


Through Violet-Colored Lenses

by meerkat2020



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcoholic Inquisitor, Biting, Burns, But not too sad, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Could You Tell?, Demiromantic Inquisitor, Drug Addiction, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, I have a biting kink, I hope, I toned it down a lot tho, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Retelling, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Trevelyan family - Freeform, Vaginal Sex, it gets pretty sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 60,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6262597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meerkat2020/pseuds/meerkat2020
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the events of DAI, featuring my Inquisitor Violet Trevelyan, with a lot of extra stuff thrown in and a hell of a lot of canon-divergence. Rating may change.</p><p>The people had distrusted her, reviled her, at first, believing her to be the cause behind the explosion at the Conclave. But after she’d stabilized the Breach, they called her the Herald of Andraste. She was sure that her family--if they even knew she was alive--was rolling on the floor laughing. Violet Trevelyan, a holy figure? Utterly laughable. More like a holy tart--her family sooner expected her to work at a brothel than to be a pawn of the Chantry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Violet Trevelyan

Spiders, crawling over her skin, skittering under her clothes and up her nose, beneath her fingernails and into her ears. The chittering, the scuttling. An eerie green glow surrounding everything. A woman, bathed in light, reaching. Screaming. Screaming, screaming, _screaming_ \--filling everything, deafening, tearing, lashing out like a wild animal desperate for escape.

Violet bolted upright in bed as two people thundered into her room, their weapons drawn. She reached for her twin daggers, _Mercy_ and _Wrath_ , but they weren’t on her body, weren’t on her bedside table. Without them, she was naked, vulnerable, weak, scared. She cowered back against the wall, everything still swimming in her eyes, freezing like a rabbit cornered by a predator. Her heart stuttered and sprinted and stuttered and sprinted, her breath coming in quick gasps, her head pounding.

 _My name is Violet Trevelyan_ , she told herself. _I am twenty-three years old_. Slowly, she realized she was in her small cabin in Haven. _My name is Violet Trevelyan. I am from Ostwick. My name is Violet Trevelyan. I am in Haven. I am safe._

The soldiers, dressed in Inquisition beiges and browns, lowered their swords as Violet took a deep breath and released it, relaxing a bit. She squeezed her left hand, her Marked hand, tendrils of green glow seeping from between her fingers. She was scared, and the Mark was reacting accordingly, stinging and biting like a very persistent itch. But she didn’t want to worry the agents that Leliana had assigned to guard her room at night, the ones who kept Violet’s night terrors from becoming rumors.

Violet forced a smile, pushing the blankets off her bare legs and swinging them off the bed, her feet pressing solidly to the cold wooden floor. She felt grounded back to reality at that one sensation, at least somewhat. _This_ was real. And...maybe her dream _had_ been real, but it was a past reality, not a current reality, and she had to remember that. She was not in the Fade. She was in Haven.

“Sorry,” she said to the soldiers who watched her warily. “Nightmares.”

“No need to apologize,” one of the agents, a woman, said. “Anything you need, Lady Herald?”

Violet smiled again, more brightly, even if it was rather forced. She hated that title. “I’ll be fine, thank you. You may leave.”

The two soldiers nodded and inclined their heads as they each pounded a fist over their hearts. Then they turned on their heels and left the cabin, leaving Violet as alone as she ever was in Haven.

She let go of a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. She glanced around at her cabin, simply furnished but comfortable enough, considering that three weeks ago she’d been in chains in a dungeon. Light filtered in through an open window facing the forest and the mountains, a light breeze flowing in.

Violet stood and stretched, letting out a soft noise. She uncorked a small flask on her bedside table and tipped it back, swallowing the bitter tincture. She stripped out of her tunic and crossed to the corner of the room where a basin of clean water sat on a small table. Violet splashed her face with the cold water, gasping at the contact. She scrubbed her face and her body until her skin was tinged pink and burned slightly, then sighed and patted herself dry with a cloth. She dressed quickly in her scout gear, strapping on her daggers before leaving, then slipped her father’s ring onto her middle finger, the gold weight a comfort.

For two weeks, now, Violet had been working with the fledgling Inquisition. She’d gathered agents and allies in the Hinterlands, the Storm Coast, even Val Royeaux. The people had distrusted her, reviled her, at first, believing her to be the cause behind the explosion at the Conclave. But after she’d stabilized the Breach, they called her _the Herald of Andraste_. She was sure that her family--if they even knew she was alive--was rolling on the floor _laughing_. Violet Trevelyan, a _holy figure_? Utterly laughable. More like a holy tart--her family sooner expected her to work at a brothel than to be a pawn of the Chantry. She did believe in the Maker and Andraste, but she detested everything the Chantry stood for.

She made sure the room was tidy before leaving. Today, she was returning to the Hinterlands to acquire steeds for the Inquisition, and to find blankets and food for the refugees there. She had to admit, she preferred the Hinterlands to Val Royeaux or the Storm Coast. Less nobles _and_ less hills.

However, after this, she had to return to Val Royeaux. Mother Giselle was attempting to gather clerics to hear out the Inquisition, and the advisors decided that the Herald of Andraste that so many thought a blasphemer would be the _perfect_ representative of the Inquisition--with, of course, backup from her companions. But first, of course, since there was likely to be a representative or two from the rogue Templars or the rebel mages, Violet had to sit through _hours_ of meetings in the War Room with Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen. Huzzah for circular arguments.

She headed to the mess hall down in the village of Haven proper, down a wide path on the side of a hill. From what she’d heard, the village used to be a tiny blip on the map, unknown to most people. Then the Hero of Ferelden had uncovered it and killed the strange Andrastian cultists there and told the world of the Temple of Sacred Ashes there. Since then, it had seen quite a number of pilgrims, but was still quite small. The Inquisition and Chantry forces had renovated the few buildings into basic needs: a bathhouse, mess hall and kitchens, laundry. Even though it was no fortress, no Keep or Hold, it was good enough for an infant organization such as their own.

Violet paused by the clearing where Cullen’s recruits were busily training despite the early hour. She watched them for a few moments, noticing that they were coming along, slowly but surely. Their techniques were improving--fewer injuries, fewer swords knocked to the ground.

“You there!” a booming voice called from directly behind Violet. She startled with an embarrassing squeak and turned to see the commander standing just behind her, watching a pair of recruits sparring. “There’s a shield in your hand, block with it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be _dead_!”

Then he turned to a man standing beside him. “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander,” the man said before striding away to inspect the individual recruits. Then the commander’s attention fell on Violet, standing just in front of him. Violet had to crane her neck to look up at him at this distance, so Cullen took a step back-- _or maybe he did it because he was nervous_ , Violet contemplated with a stifled giggle.

Cullen immediately started talking about the recruits and their efforts. Violet sighed internally. The commander was a dashingly handsome man, but all he did was talk about strategy! Surely, he noticed the way men and women alike eyed him? Even if he didn’t acknowledge how attractive he was--objectively speaking, of course--he had to realize the _effect_ he had on people. So why was he always talking about such...mundane things? Of course, Violet was just...the Herald. And he was her commanding officer.

“We’ve received many recruits--most from Haven, some pilgrims,” Cullen informed her. “None made _quite_ the entrance you did.”

Violet smirked. “At least I got everyone’s attention.”

Cullen smiled. “That you did.”

Her smirk widened into a cheeky grin and she winked at him. “Did I, now, Commander?”

Cullen realized the implication of his words and cleared his throat suddenly, then started to talk about how he was recruited by Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast in Kirkwall. Violet had heard about the debacle in the city-state, sister to her own Ostwick. They walked together as Cullen told her of his experiences in Kirkwall.

“I was there during the mage uprising,” Cullen said. “I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.” He hesitated as a scout came up with a paper for Cullen. “Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the Templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

Violet sighed. “Sure does, doesn’t it? But it sort of puts things into perspective, hm? Things could be worse than mages wanting to be treated like humans.”

Cullen frowned, brow furrowed. _Templar_ , Violet reminded herself. Even if he was a “former” Templar. Then he started to monologue about the Chantry and its shortcomings and what the Inquisition _could be_ \--then he cut himself off with a shake of his head, just when Violet was starting to think that maybe the commander was more than just a strategy-obsessed Templar. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, I didn’t,” Violet answered slowly with a smirk. “Although it sounds like you’ve really thought about these things. I’d love to hear it sometime. But maybe buy me dinner first?”

Before Cullen could respond, another scout approached him. “Commander, Ser Rylen has the report on our supply lines.”

“As I was saying,” Cullen replied, taking the report and following the scout. Violet didn’t miss the smile on his face as he bid her farewell. Violet watched him leave, rather enjoying the sight, then left the courtyard and continued on to get breakfast.

The mess hall was a long building, filled with row after row of tables. It was abuzz with laughter, chatter, shouting, and the scraping of cutlery, even though it was hardly full, still being just after dawn. But as soon as the Herald stepped in, those closest to the doors noticed and fell silent, standing and bowing. Violet bit the inside of her lip as she smiled coolly. Growing up as a noble, she was used to being shown respect. But this...was entirely different. _Worship_. She was no holy figure. She was hardly holy at all, considering the things she’d done in the Ostwick Chantry…

“Herald!” a familiar voice called from a nearby table. Violet smiled genuinely at the dwarf as he hailed her. She headed to the table as one of the Chantry sisters offered her a hot bowl of oatmeal, which she accepted.

“Good morning,” she greeted Varric and the others: a few recruits, Sera, The Iron Bull, Blackwall, Cassandra. They all seemed to have been listening intently to one of Varric’s stories. Violet loved his stories, and had a few of her own...though she had a feeling that Cassandra and the other advisors would _not_ appreciate her telling them. They were trying to help the image of Andraste’s Herald, a holy woman from a background of faith, to spread. Her tales would do quite the opposite.

“Herald,” Cassandra said. “We’ll be ready to leave when you are.”

Violet nodded as she wolfed down her oatmeal. “Lovely. I’d like to leave as soon as possible. If the Inquisition wants to seem like a powerful force, it wouldn’t do to have all of our other agents arrive on foot everywhere they go. I don’t know, but horses make you seem more...powerful. Do you get what I mean?”

Varric grinned. “Believe me, I know. When you’re half the height of most people on the surface, the added height of a horse does make you feel better.”

“The height!” Violet agreed eagerly. “That’s what it is! And I definitely get you, Varric. Even though I’m no dwarf, I’m still…” She glanced around the table. “The shortest person at this table. Besides you. Even Sera’s taller than me!”

Sera giggled in that interesting way of hers, half snorting. “You don’t seem like you need to _overcompensate_ , Herald.” Violet grinned back at her, waggling her eyebrows.

The small talk continued until more soldiers started to file in, giving the Herald a wide berth, as if afraid that they’d be incinerated if they go too close. Violet returned her bowl to a receptacle for dirty dishes and headed out quickly, head down. She really hated the way the soldiers and refugees treated her. Like another of the Maker’s prophets. She knew there was nothing she could do to fight it, but still…

Violet mounted her Fereldan Forder, the saddlebags already filled with everything they’d need--potions, bedrolls, extra clothes, healing supplies. She rode out with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, twisting the gold ring around her finger nervously as the village disappeared behind them. It was just a normal mission, but she felt anxious.

She didn’t believe in luck, but she really hoped it was on their side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. There it is. My darling Violet, there. Inquiring.
> 
> Right. I’ll *try* to have a rhythm of updating, weekly or something, or whatever. Emphasis on the trying.
> 
> Let me know what you think! I’ve only ever posted one story before, and that was a short little two-chapter thing. I love feedback, ideas, theories, opinions! It gives me life.


	2. The Mages' Dilemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this, two updates in as many days. It won't stay this way forever, folks, I just happen to have a few chapters already written and nearly ready to go; they're being beta'd, god bless.

The air of the Hinterlands was cool and tinged with the scents of smoke and blood from the warring mages and Templars. Violet had managed to get horsemaster Dennet to agree to aid the Inquisition-- _ if _ they set up watchtowers to keep an eye out for bandits approaching. That evening, she sat at the small table in her tent, the flame of a candle guttering above her, as she wrote a hasty letter to let the advisors know of the situation. The sooner Cullen could erect watchtowers, the better; they wouldn’t be returning to Haven for a week yet.

Violet stretched after she signed her name, rolling the letter up and sealing it. She handed it to one of Leliana’s scouts in the camp, and nodded at the usual greeting of, “Your Worship.”

“This needs to reach Sister Nightingale as soon as possible,” Violet instructed crisply. “It’s not an emergency, but it is important. Thank you.”

Violet returned to her tent to strip off her scout’s armor, folding it neatly. She kept her daggers, though, and gathered some items before heading away from the camp, very aware of being watched by her companions and the agents as they ate around the small fire. Violet had seen a stream not too far away, and she wanted to bathe, to be alone with her thoughts. Surely, they could allow her that small luxury?

She found the stream easily enough, close to camp so she could holler if anything happened. Though she honestly felt that the only danger was slipping on the slick rocks. She pulled off her sleeveless tunic and her leather trousers, along with her boots and underthings. She left them in a neat little pile beside her, and put her clean clothing beside those, on a dry rock. She placed her daggers within arms reach and kept her father’s ring on her finger, afraid of losing it in the darkness.

Carefully, she slid into the stream, just deep enough to cover her hips. It was freezing cold, causing goosebumps to break out all along her arms and legs, her chest and stomach and back. Her teeth started to chatter and she clenched them, humming to herself as she washed her short, white-blond hair.

She had finished washing the rest of her body, and was climbing out and pulling on her underwear and breastband when she heard a twig snap. She froze, her hand pausing in its reach for her tunic. She instead went for her daggers, gripping their hilts and staring into the underbrush. Had it just been an animal? Very possibly. But it could also have  _ not _ been an animal.

There was a rustling only a yard away, a bush shaking. Leaving one of her daggers, Violet crept slowly closer, not making a sound, and reached into the bush, grabbing hold of something that was definitely not an animal, and  _ yanking _ the person out and onto the riverbank. She climbed on top of them with a dagger pointed at their throat, her hand clutching the collar of their...mages’ robes!

Violet looked down into the terrified face of a dark-skinned elf. His brilliant scarlet hair was at odds with his dark brown skin, and his eyes were squeezed tightly closed with fear. He shook like a leaf under Violet’s grip. She almost felt sorry for how pathetic he was.

“Why were you watching me?” Violet growled, grip tightening. “Answer me!”

“I--I--I,” he stuttered, taking a deep breath, opening his eyes, voice barely a squeak. “I came to seek the Inquisition’s aid!” 

“Oh?” Violet asked, quirking an eyebrow. “And that includes watching the Herald of Andraste  _ bathe _ , does it?”

The elf made a high-pitched noise of protest. “I--I swear, I had n-no  _ idea _ you were the Herald! And I didn’t mean to watch you bathe! I...didn’t see...anything, if that helps.”

Violet found herself laughing, despite the situation. The elf couldn’t even be out of his teens. “Why do you seek the Inquisition’s aid?”

The elf gulped, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, unnerved by her laughter. When he spoke again, he sounded like he was rehearsing something he’d practiced dozens of times before approaching Violet. “I am here on behalf of Grand Enchanter Fiona’s second-in-command, who wishes to remain anonymous at this time. The Grand Enchanter has…” He gulped. “She has made a terrible mistake. In her fear for the mage rebellion’s failure, she has...indentured the rebel mages to a Tevinter magister.”

Violet’s heart stuttered and her eyes widened with shock. “She did  _ what _ ?” she asked in a growl, regaining her composure and digging the knife a little more into the frightened elf’s throat. “Tell me this is a  _ very _ funny joke.”

The mage shook his head just enough, scared of the biting edge of her dagger.

“Why should I believe you?” Violet continued.

He breathed out a shuddering breath, real fear in his voice as he spoke the next words. “You can... _ kill _ me, if you like, but that won’t change the truth. Fiona refuses to see the mistake she’s made, and her second  _ needed _ to do something. She’d come herself, but she said that her departure would raise too many eyebrows. So she sent me. Please, Herald, we need your help.”

Violet bit her lip. The mages had all sorts with them. Children. Tranquil. Elderly. Sick. She couldn’t just dismiss this elf’s warnings. She had to do something.

“Very well,” Violet said imperatively, straightening and rolling off the elf. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s your name?”

“Emanuel,” he replied, sitting up.

“Violet,” she replied, sticking out her hand. They shook, the elf looking massively relieved that he was still in one piece. “But I’m afraid I can’t do anything. Yet. I must talk to my companions. And I should probably get dressed.”

Emanuel nodded earnestly, gaze flitting up past her face to the sky, his cheeks scarlet. “Of course, Lady Herald.”

Violet sighed. “I said you could call me Violet,” she reprimanded as she stood and pulled on clean trousers. She was starting to wonder, however, with Emanuel’s news, if maybe her shower had been premature. Then she pulled on a fresh tunic, this one long-sleeved and fitted, and latched her belt on. She gathered up everything she brought, after she’d slid  _ Mercy  _ and  _ Wrath _ into their sheathes and strapped them to her belt.

“Come with me,” Violet instructed, leading the elf back to the camp. She eyed him as they walked. He was tall, for an elf (still taller than Violet), and lean, just a hint of muscle in his arms and legs--probably from wielding a staff. Still, he couldn’t have been more than...seventeen? Eighteen? If the few pimples dotting his chin were any indication, then he was too young for her, Violet thought dismissively.

As they entered the camp, they all glanced over at Violet and Emanuel. Cassandra leapt to her feet at the newcomer, hand on her sword hilt, cautious as always. Violet waved away her worry.

“We have a lead,” Violet told them, sitting at the fire. Emanuel sat down uncertainly beside her. Violet clapped him on the shoulder, nearly making him fall from the log. “This young elf claims to be a representative of the rebel mages--quite a rebel himself, I might add, sneaking out on his own to tell us some  _ pressing _ news: the mages have sold themselves into indentured slavery to Tevinter.”

Her companions blinked in shock, at first, before erupting into shouting.

“That is, by far, the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!”

“Do they not value their autonomy? How is this any better than living in a Circle?”

“They’ve  _ aligned _ themselves with  _ Tevinter _ ?”

Violet had expected such reactions, raising her hand for silence. “I share the sentiment. However, this may just be the opportunity we need to approach the rebel mages for help in closing the Breach!” She sounded excited now, a small smile forming on her lips. “Emanuel here said that Fiona’s second-in-command wishes to speak with us. I think we should go for it.”

Cassandra looked worried, frowning, eyebrows furrowed. Solas looked thoughtful, as did Varric. But Varric also looked like he may have eaten something bad for dinner.

“We shouldn’t make any hasty decisions,” Cassandra finally said, her words careful and measured. “We must have the counsel of Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine before we make a decision to approach this second-in-command of Fiona’s.”

Violet nodded. She was used to making decisions on her own, and she was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that she was an  _ agent _ of the Inquisition, and did not have the liberty to make big choices that altered the lives of all of Thedas. She had to rely on the advisors.

“Alright,” Violet sighed. “I guess I’ll write up another letter. Emanuel, would you like to stay here tonight, or…?”

The elf shook his head adamantly. “My absence will be noticed sooner or later. I must return as soon as possible. When you’ve made up your mind, leave a note in the hollowed tree where I met you tonight.” He stood, fidgeting a little. “Thank you, Herald."

“Don’t thank me yet,” Violet retorted. “Safe travels.”

“Dareth Shiral,” Emanuel replied. Violet raised a brow as he left. He didn’t  _ seem _ Dalish. He had no Vallaslin. Then again, Violet’s knowledge of elves was very limited.

“Shit,” Varric cursed, shaking his head. “This...this is bad, Dynamite.”

Violet sighed. “I know.” Then she stood, heading back to the tent she’d share with Cassandra. “I should let the advisors know the situation. Maker, give me strength.” There was no way this would go over well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, I know dynamite doesn't technically exist in the DA universe, but the only similar thing is gaatlok. 1) that's already taken as a nickname. 2) honestly could you see Violet as a "Gaat"???? No. But, well, anyway, it's a cute nickname. It was actually my mom's nickname as a kid b/c she used to carry the ammo when her family went on camping/hunting trips. So.


	3. Help Is On The Way

A raven arrived from Haven the next morning. As predicted, the advisors’ response was swift and brief, written in Cullen’s small, cramped handwriting. No, Violet was not “allowed” to meet with this "mysterious" second-in-command of Fiona’s. It was suspicious, to say the very least. It could be a set up, an ambush to kidnap or kill the Herald of Andraste. And, Cullen reminded her, like she needed to be reminded: they needed her Marked hand if they were going to close the Breach. Violet grumbled to herself as she balled up the paper and tossed it into the fire.

Yes, of course, all that mattered was her damn Mark. She had half a mind to just walk away from the Inquisition. They couldn’t force her to close the Breach. They could chain her, drug her, hold her palm up to the damned hole in the sky, but by the blood of Andraste, _she would not close it_ , if only to spite them.

Violet sighed angrily, running a hand through her pixie-cut hair. She wasn’t being fair. She pledged herself to the Inquisition, vowed to help if she could. She was alive for a reason, even though she had no right to be. She had to make herself worthy of this. This was bigger than her own petty feelings. This was all of Thedas on the line.

Violet approached Cassandra, Solas, and Varric. “Cullen says we should head back and come up with a game plan. _I_ say we seek out this second-in-command. I want to see the situation for myself before returning. We _need_ proof, more information! Otherwise, Mr. I-Know-Best-Because-I’m-The-Commander will completely and totally dismiss the mages, and will insist on seeking out the Templars instead.”

“Not to pry, Herald, but do you have a particular issue with the Templars?” Solas asked.

Violet folded her arms and rolled her eyes. “Not really. Half of my family is Templars. I almost became a Templar--but I was too sympathetic to mages and magic, and they feared I wouldn’t be able to get the job done.” She shrugged it off like it didn’t matter. “But...there are kids with the mages. I think it’s important that we at least hear them out first, before dismissing them.”

Solas narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t quite believe her. Well, she was telling the truth. Just not the whole truth. Violet turned away from him, eyes downcast.

“I’m going to stay and hear out Emanuel and Fiona’s second,” Violet announced. “I won’t make you all stay. Just don’t try to stop me.”

“I’m with you, Dynamite,” Varric vowed. “As crazy as all this is...I’d rather not be the one to tell the advisors of your...lack of listening skills.”

Violet’s lip quirked. “Appreciated.”

“I, myself, am rather interested in hearing what Fiona’s second-in-command has to say, actually,” Solas told her. Violet felt grateful to have a mage on their side. She smiled at him.

Their eyes fell on Cassandra. She made a disgusted noise, and Violet feared she’d leave them and return to Haven to tattle on them. Just when Violet was beginning to like her. But then the Seeker surprised them all when she said, “I cannot, in good faith, leave you to do this on your own. I do not approve...but I believe your heart is good, Herald. I trust you.”

Violet beamed at Cassandra, and had to resist the urge to throw her arms around the taller woman. Something told her it would not be very much appreciated right now.

“Thank you, Cassandra,” Violet breathed. Cassandra grunted, but looked begrudgingly pleased. Violet looked like she had more to say, but then she shook her head just slightly. “Let me write a letter for Emanuel, so he knows. Thank you, all of you, again.” Violet offered another smile, then turned to her tent. Just a few moments later, she emerged, heading to the river and following it a bit, until she found the tree Emanuel had specified. It was terribly insecure, really, but what choice did she have? Violet placed the rolled up note inside the hollowed tree and returned to camp, hoping for the best.

***

Violet was a ball of nervous energy the entire day as they slaughtered a wildly rabid pack of wolves. There was _definitely_ something wrong with those creatures, and she made a mental note to mention it at the War Table, if she got a chance.

She checked the hollowed tree when they returned to camp as the sun was setting, her heart skipping when she found that there was a new letter, folded neatly. The letter was concise, written in neat handwriting. _Meet tonight--the burnt house on the outskirts of Redcliffe_. Violet folded the letter again and stuffed it in her pocket, her heart feeling lighter.

She told her companions of the letter and they prepared for their outing that evening. Violet made sure they were all fully stocked on healing potions, and those interesting bee grenades that Sera had told them about. Violet rather liked them.

They reached the outskirts of Redcliffe Village just as the sun died. True to their word, there was a shell of a building, just the foundation stones, really, and a few scorched posts, far enough away that they could go unnoticed by the townspeople in the falling darkness.

The party warily approached the structure, weapons drawn, ears twitching at any noise. Violet noticed two shadowy figures standing on the other side of the burnt house, under the overhang of a scorched tree devoid of leaves. Excitement made Violet’s heart race faster, her breath quicker. She didn’t want to admit _why_ she was so eager to meet the rebel mages. If she admitted it, even to herself, then she was giving herself hope. And if that hope was dashed, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to deal with the letdown.

“Be cautious,” Cassandra warned them needlessly.

One of the two figures summoned a small flame to their hand, illuminating a circle around them. Violet recognized him as Emanuel, and he looked terrifyingly nervous. Violet wasn’t sure if he had a really bad pokerface and they were in for a nasty awakening, or if his meeting them here was really so dangerous. With a Tevinter Magister around, however, Violet imagined it was.

The second person was about an inch or so taller than Violet, petite and willowy and wearing mage robes. Violet didn’t want to look up into the feminine figure’s face, but knew she couldn’t stare at her own feet the whole meeting. With baited breath, she glanced up quickly, her heart stuttering to a stop when her own green eyes looked back at her.

“P--Persephone?” Violet asked, voice trembling. The woman couldn’t hide the recognition in her eyes. Violet ran forward and flung her arms around the female mage, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Maker’s breath, it’s really you! I haven’t--I haven’t seen you in too long, Pers.”

Violet took a step back when she realized the woman was not...hugging her back. Had she somehow mistaken the mage for her sister? Was it possible? But--no. The woman before Violet looked uncannily like her sister, and she was sure her companions saw the familial resemblance between the two of them. Heart-shaped faces, green eyes, light skin dotted with freckles. Their body types were different, though. Violet was leaner and more muscled, but Persephone was more curvaceous and soft. The main difference was their hair: while her sister’s hair was chestnut and fell in long waves to her mid-back, Violet’s was cropped short and white blond. It wasn’t natural, of course, but she would never admit to that.

“Persephone?” Violet asked, confused.

“You know her?” Cassandra asked in shock.

“Seeker, I know you’re not always good at the uptake, but they _look_ the same--well, similar,” Varric commented. “Very similar.”

“Sisters, I presume?” Solas asked politely.

Violet nodded, a worried look on her face. Cassandra made a noise of disbelief.

Emanuel had been watching in shock the whole time; obviously, Persephone had not revealed this little fact to her friend. He looked between the two women now and looked like he was berating himself for not noting the striking similarities.

“Persephone, why--?” Violet began, but her sister cut her off.

“We are pressed for time, Herald,” Persephone said authoritatively, bringing them all back to the reason why they were here. “I do not have much time, but you cannot enter the situation without any information. A Tevinter Magister--Gereon Alexius--has swooped in, as if by _magic_ , and has bought the mages out from under you. I…” Persephone made a frustrated noise. “I cannot _believe_ Fiona made such a decision without consulting anyone else, _especially me_ , her second-in-command!

“So I ask of you, Inquisition, to help us,” Persephone continued, an almost pleading tone to her voice. “There will be many who will not go to Tevinter willingly--there will be fights, deaths, suicides. I would prefer all that to be avoided. Here is your official permission to approach the _rebel mages_.”

“We will help you,” Violet assured her. “I swear it, Persephone.”

The mage smiled politely, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Return to your camp. We must return to the castle before anyone notices our absences. Tomorrow, approach Fiona at The Gull. I...I don’t think she likes this arrangement any more than we do. She is...desperate.” With that, Persephone nodded to the group and headed back with Emanuel, who let the flame die out as he cast a last, curious glance at Violet and her companions.

“Well, shit,” Violet sighed, her father's ring a heavy weight on her hand. She stared worriedly at the retreating back of her sister. “This is worse than expected.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm just wait 'til you see more interaction between Violet and Persephone. Hint: the tags give it away oops.  
> Thoughts?  
> Alsoooo, check out my tumblr for, well, stupid shit: http://pansexualanarchist.tumblr.com/


	4. Magisters and Manners

When dawn broke, Violet led her companions back to Redcliffe. As they approached the gates, however, a Rift suddenly opened, spouting green light and the screeching of demons. Violet drew her dual daggers as her other companions readied their weapons, then they jumped into the fray--Varric and Solas striking from afar, Cassandra in the thick of it, and Violet doing her best to keep the demons from getting in a shot.

When the Rift was safely closed, Violet felt bizarre. “Is it just me…” she panted. “Or was that...really funky?”

Varric nodded in agreement. “Do Rifts  _ usually _ speed up and slow down the things around them?”

The three of them looked to Solas, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Interesting. I’ve not encountered any Fade magic like this. Perhaps we’ll find out more information in the village.”

Violet nodded and cleaned her daggers before sliding them back into their sheathes, continuing into the village. They headed to the tavern, The Gull and Lantern. It was a sad place to be. It was supposed to be happy and boisterous and loud, full of singing and dancing and cursing and card games. But it was silent, empty. An atmosphere of despair clung to the air, thick as custard.

Fiona was standing with some other mages, including Persephone, who carefully did not look at Violet. Violet headed toward the senior mage, glad to have the backup of her companions. “Welcome, agents of the Inquisition,” Fiona greeted, her voice even.

“Grand Enchanter,” Violet replied. “We are here as representatives of the Inquisition, requesting your aid in closing the Breach.”

“The situation has changed,” Fiona said. A heavy, melancholy look crossed her face. “As one indentured to a magister,” she began, the words seeming to pain her as she uttered them, “I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.”

Violet sighed, twisting her father’s ring on her finger. Even with Persephone’s advanced warning, it still was a blow to hear it. “That was tremendously stupid of you, wasn’t it?” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “Why--?”

Violet was cut off as the door to The Gull opened and in strolled a pale man with small, beady eyes, followed by a small entourage. Violet could tell by his style of clothing (all those buckles!) and his pompous air who he was. He  _ must’ve _ been the Tevinter magister that  _ bought _ the mages out from under her.

“Welcome, my friends!” he said. “I apologize for not greeting you earlier.”

Violet really didn’t like this. On a good day, she disliked Tevinter. Today was not turning out to be a very good day, and a magister being at the center of it just set her more on edge.

Fiona introduced the mage as Magister Gereon Alexius. A pompous name to go with his pompous demeanor. Violet did not try to be courteous. She folded her arms and, though she was an entire head shorter than Alexius, she pinned her best venomous glare on him. “So. What does Tevinter want with a bunch of rebels?” Before Alexius could answer, Violet continued, “And  _ when _ did you manage to gain their service? Seems rather  _ fortuitous _ , hm?”

The magister spouted something about “divine providence,” but Violet didn’t believe him. She could see the gears turning in Fiona’s mind as well, and she knew her sister was glaring at the magister with blatant distrust.

Violet turned to her companions. “A moment, if you would?” she asked politely of the magister.

“Of course, my dear,” he replied with a slight bow.

Violet led her companions outside, away from prying ears. “This is bad. What do you suggest we do?”

Cassandra looked thunderous. “I cannot believe the Arl has left Redcliffe. We cannot let this situation remain.”

“It seems most peculiar that Magister Alexius managed to beat us here,” Solas murmured, more to himself.

“Varric?” Violet prompted.

Varric sighed. “Something tells me that Alexius isn’t buying the mages out of the kindness of his heart. If he has one.”

Violet nodded. “Then let’s negotiate.” They returned to the tavern, Violet fixing an eye on the magister. “Let’s talk, shall we?”

Alexius chuckled amicably. “Always good to talk to a reasonable woman.” He gestured to the table and Violet took a hesitant seat across from the magister. He introduced his son, Felix, one of the mages with him. He was taller than his father and had close-cropped dark hair and olive-toned skin, a soft jaw and pouty lips. Then Alexius sent his son to fetch a scribe.

While they waited, Alexius made small talk. Violet tried very hard not to snap at him, to keep her temper under control. She tapped her finger on the table as Alexius chatted with a vague smile on his face, until Felix returned. He was paler than he was before, and he seemed to be having trouble walking. Violet stood up to help him, as did Alexius, with some amount of alarm.

“Felix!” Alexius cried as his son stumbled into Violet. She caught him, staggering under his weight with a wheeze. She helped him regain his balance with the aid of his father, who seemed very concerned. “Are you alright?” he fretted, flitting about his child.

“I’m fine,” Felix claimed with a slight cough.

“Come, I’ll get your powders,” Alexius said to his son in a soothing undertone. “Please excuse me, friends,” he added as he addressed the room. “We will have to continue this another time.”

Violet narrowed her eyes in suspicious as Alexius left while worrying over his son. Once the door closed behind them, Violet peered down at the folded and creased paper that Felix had slipped into her hand when he collapsed against her. She read it, then reread it, then read it aloud.

“Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” Violet looked around at her companions.

“Sounds like a trap,” Cassandra intoned.

“It’s worth investigating,” Violet insisted, earning her a disapproving look from Cassandra. She rolled her eyes. “Come on. It’s a lead, isn’t it?” She offered her companions a reassuring grin. “It’s not like things can get any worse, hm?”

***

Violet was in a supremely bad mood on their way back to Haven. In the Chantry, they’d met _another_ Tevinter mage, Dorian, who claimed that Magister Alexius had used _time_ _magic_ to reach the rebel mages before the Inquisition, and was ripping the fabric of time to shreds in the meantime. And according to Felix, his father had joined a _cult_ of Tevinter supremacists. Violet thought _all_ ‘Vints were supremacists--except for the slaves, of course--but apparently she was wrong. And all to get to Violet.

“Everything okay, Dynamite?” Varric had asked when they’d set off to return to Haven. “You seem...thoughtful.”

“And that means something’s wrong with me?” Violet snapped. She sighed. She’d meant for the jibe to be light, to assuage Varric’s worry, but she’d likely just confirmed it. Violet glanced at the dwarf. “Yes, I’m angry and upset. This is really bad. We need to discuss things with Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen as soon as possible.”

Immediately upon returning to Haven, Violet and Cassandra were whipped away to a meeting in the War Room. Cullen and Josephine laid into Violet, reprimanding her for ignoring their  _ very pointed warning _ , for not consulting the Inquisition council, for engaging in situations that could’ve easily become hostile with no backup, no plan, no nothing. Violet stood there and took the verbal beating, only twisting the ring on her finger to keep her hands from reaching for her daggers.

“Approaching the rebel mages with  _ no _ plan, Herald, could’ve ended very badly for you,” Josephine tittered, agitated. “I’m disappointed that you paid no heed to our advice, and that  _ you _ , Cassandra, allowed this to happen.”

“You could’ve jeopardized the Inquisition!” Cullen said angrily. “This organization is bigger than you, Herald, it’s bigger than all of us. It’s about restoring order, and it cannot be endangered by a self-centered agent who only cares about her own needs!”

Violet’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. Her face burned with shame. Her heart burned with determination, and maybe a bit of foolishness. She hated being berated by people she’d begun to see as her peers--but, of course, she was the youngest of them all by nearly a decade. She was saved, however, by Cassandra.

“Violet took initiative,” she declared, looking around at each of them in turn. “And she did not force us to follow her. Throughout the entire encounter, she asked our thoughts, our opinions. She did not do this alone. And if we hadn’t approached the rebel mages and this magister, and instead returned to Haven to  _ bicker _ like children, we may have lost the opportunity to talk to them at all.”

Violet was touched by Cassandra’s defense of her. Now she felt tears for a different reason, but still she would not cry. She remained silent, biting her lip, as the tension in the room diffused somewhat.

Josephine was the first to break the silence. “Well..we received a message from this Magister Alexius. He wants to meet with you, Violet. Just you. An obvious trap.”

Violet listened, now. They couldn’t march into Redcliffe with an army of Inquisition recruits because they were technically Orlesian at present. It would cause war with Ferelden.

“The magister--” Cassandra began, but was cut off by Cullen.

“Has out-played us,” he finished with a shake of his head and a dark look toward Violet.

Violet sighed angrily, lifting her head. “You think this magister is going to let the prize pig refuse the invitation to the slaughterhouse? He and his cult--the Venatori--are obsessed with me. He’s not going to let me go.”

Violet was glad when Leliana and Cassandra backed her up. Out of all the people in the room, Violet would have never expected them to support her. She tried to ignore the hurt she felt from Cullen and Josephine having reprimanded her earlier.

Leliana’s head snapped up as she remembered something. “Wait,” she murmured. “There’s a passage in the windmill leading into the castle, an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

Cullen shot down that suggestion, ever the optimist. “Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction,” Leliana countered, turning toward Cullen. “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

Cullen nodded, seeing a plan. “While they’re focused on Trevelyan, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but it’s a huge risk.”

At that moment, the door to the War Room flew open, and Dorian strolled in, announcing, “Fortunately, you’ll have help.”

Violet felt herself grinning at him as one of the guards flew in after him, seeming rather agitated. “This man says he has information on the magister and his methods, Commander.”

Dorian stood beside Violet and offered her a small smile. Cullen turned to set a challenging glare on the man. Dorian, unaffected by the hostile eyes in the room, declared, “Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

Then the others focused on Violet. “The plan puts you in the most danger,” Cullen said to her. Violet kept her eyes frosty. “We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this.” When he started suggesting them to seek out the Templars, Violet snorted.

“What, and have an entire army of soldiers just like you?” she countered. “A bunch of people with sticks so far up their arseholes they’re picking splinters out of their teeth? I’d rather not.” Violet ignored the indignant look Cullen shot her. “If we’re done here…?”

Leliana nodded in affirmation and Violet spun out of the room, heading to the bathhouse. She smelled like she’d been living in the wilderness for the past few days. Which she had. More than that, she needed a good, long soak so she could forget what total asses she was working with.

Before she could take ten paces, Josephine caught up with her. “Your Worship,” she began, looking rather contrite. “I apologize for my reaction today. You deserved better than that. I understand that there are difficult decisions to make, as an agent, and that sometimes the best you can do is...the best you can do. I would just like to ask you to please take our advice to heart, as we all only want what is best for the Inquisition. Once again, I am sorry.”

Josephine turned to leave, but Violet grabbed her shoulder and gave the taller woman a quick hug, her eyes shining somewhat. “It’s okay, Josephine,” she said. “No harm done, right? We’ve got our plan. But…I will try to listen more readily to you and the others. I understand...that I acted unprofessionally.” Maker, Violet was never good with apologies. Her eyes were downcast and her voice was fuzzy.

“No harm done, right, Herald?” Josephine replied with a soft smile that lit up her face.

“It’s Violet, remember?” she said, but she was smiling. Josephine chuckled. “Anyway, I’m sorry for hugging you. I smell like a barnyard. I’m going to go take a bath, now, Josephine. Thank you.” She offered her another smile before continuing out of the Chantry and to the bathhouse, feeling like less of an actual shit.

Violet was waylaid quite a few times on her way to the bathhouse in the village. Scouts and soldiers alike approached her, handing her reports that she’d missed. She left the reports and her armor and weapons in her room, which she tidied up while she was there. Then she stopped by the requisition tent and the stables to welcome Horsemaster Dennet. He was a good man. Reminded Violet of her uncle, and it wasn’t just the smell of horses.

Finally, she managed to reach the bathhouse. Since it was near midday, the baths were mostly empty. Violet looked forward to the solitude, the silence, but she also dreaded it. She didn’t want to be left with her thoughts. As she entered the quiet, small building, Violet heaved a great sigh. She walked down the hall to the baths, opening the door and letting it shut behind her. She filled one of the tubs along the wall, still marveling at the aqueduct system. She’d always taken it for granted at home. She didn’t think she’d ever comprehend it, but she loved it nonetheless.

Violet lowered herself into the steaming water after shucking her clothes. She sunk until the water reached her collarbone and she groaned. She was covered in bruises and cuts, her muscles were sore and her limbs were stiff. This...this was marvelous.

Violet was trying not to think about her sister. Maker, had Persephone even acknowledged their relation? But she couldn’t blame her younger sister for wanting nothing to do with her. If Persephone blamed her for their father’s death, Violet could hardly fault her. She felt the same way. On top of that, it was Violet’s fault that Persephone had discovered her powers and been sent to the Circle.

She was about to start crying again when the door to the baths opened. Violet startled and turned to see the commander strolling in, wearing only a tunic, breeches, and boots, looking like he had just finished sparring. He froze when his eyes landed on Violet, his cheeks turning scarlet, and not from the heat of the room.

“Commander,” Violet greeted stoically, making to get up before thinking better of it. She was still rather miffed at him for yelling at her, calling her “irresponsible” and “reprehensible” and “a delinquent.” That last one was by far Violet’s favorite insult she’d received that day, even more so than “churlish.”

“Forgive me, Herald, I did not know you’d be here--” Cullen started, backing out.

“Oh, come on, Commander, I’m sure you’ve seen a naked woman before,” Violet sighed, her voice rather acidic. “At least, I hope so. It’s not like we’re doing anything  _ inappropriate _ or  _ reproachful _ ,” she continued, using the choice words he’d used to describe her at the meeting today. He winced at that, and Violet felt a vicious pleasure. “It’s a public bathhouse, Cullen.”

Her bad-sport teasing and goading didn’t seem to do much to convince the commander. He rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at Violet. “I...owe you an apology, I believe. I was upset that you would ignore your advisors so easily. But I understand that the circumstances were...tentative and needed to be handled swiftly. I am sorry for calling you childish and selfish--”

“Don’t forget ‘impatient’ and ‘irritating’,” Violet added with a waspish smile.

Cullen sighed. “I’m sorry, Herald. I hope we can learn to work with each other and trust each other so a situation like  _ this _ does not arise again.”

“Apology accepted, Commander,” Violet said imperiously after a moment of contemplation. Then she rose out of the water, stepping out of the tub. There was half a beat of silence and then a string of curses that took the Maker’s name in vain. Violet attempted to stifle her giggling as she watched Cullen duck his head and look pointedly away from her. He was red from the tips of his ears down to his collar.

Violet wrapped herself in a towel and patted her skin dry. “Maybe you  _ haven’t _ seen a woman naked?” Violet mused, watching Cullen fidget uncomfortably. She snorted at his quick, pointed glare. “Teasing, Commander. There’s no shame in it--seeing a thousand naked people or seeing only your own naked body. It doesn’t matter when you’re dead.” She shrugged and pulled on comfortable trousers and a loose, sleeveless tunic.

“Go take your bath,” Violet said, rolling her eyes. “I’m leaving. But for future reference, Commander: it  _ is _ a public bathhouse for all the denizens of Haven. You should get used to  _ anybody _ coming in and stripping, before you’re here and a Chantry sister comes to bathe and you gape in shock."

Violet giggled to herself as Cullen shot her a look of mortification. Oh, poor Chantry Boy. It was rather adorable, she had to admit. Something told her, however, that he wasn’t as chaste as he acted. And she wanted to find out just how Chantry-ish he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. How fucking cliched can I get? A bath scene!!!! But what can I say, I am trash.
> 
> Right! Also, I ought to mention that I cut back as much as I can on dialogue straight from the video game bc I personally find it really annoying and kind of boring to read through something that I've heard too many times. So. Sorry if it seems stilted? But, on the flipside, I also use the dialogue to help develop Violet, d'you see? So it's hard to balance sometimes. Sorry.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! I love to read and respond to comments :> And my tumblr is pansexualanarchist.tumblr.com for any interested in any drabbles/blurbs, headcanons, and general piles of shit.


	5. Though Darkness Closes, I Am Shielded By Flame

They left at dawn the next morning to ride out to Redcliffe. Alexius was waiting for them, sitting on the Arl’s throne like he  _ owned _ the place, the damned Tevinter supremacist. Violet glowered down at him, rather glad he was sitting. She liked looking down on people, for a change. Especially arseholes like this cultist.

“The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them,” Alexius said evenly. “So, what shall you offer in exchange?”

Violet nearly snorted. “I know you want me dead, magister. This is a trap. I’m not stupid.”

Alexius smiled tightly. “Maybe not, but you have entered my trap nonetheless.”

Felix turned to his father and dropped the ball. “She knows everything, Father,” he said calmly.

Violet could see the crack in Alexius’s carefully crafted calm exterior. He rose to his feet, ranting down at Violet, Cassandra, and Varric, going on about the Mark and power. A raving madman.

“He sounds exactly like the villainous cliche everyone expects us to be,” Dorian quipped, shaking his head with a tone of disgust as he appeared from the shadows.

“I gave you a chance to be a part of this,” Alexius said to Dorian, hurt in his eyes. “The Elder One has power you would not believe. He would raise the Imperium from its own ashes."

The Elder One? That didn’t sound good, but at least now they had something to go on. “Who’s the Elder One?” Violet asked. “A mage? Did he blow up the Conclave?”

Alexius fixed his gaze on Violet, a fanatical gleam in his eyes. “Soon, he will become a  _ god _ .”

Fiona and Dorian protested this declaration. Violet felt her eyes widen and her stomach drop. She twisted the ring on her finger anxiously. So a mage was to blame for all this. Dammit. This would not go over well when they returned to Haven. Felix attempted to calm his father, to talk him down, but the magister was having none of it.

“It’s the only way he can save you!” Alexius told him, face torn with grief. “If I fix the mistake at the Temple…”

“I’m going to die,” Felix said without any sugarcoating. “You need to accept that.”

“Seize them!” Alexius ordered. “Venatori!”

Violet turned to see Inquisition soldiers appearing where the Tevinter mages had stood before. Now those fanatics were slumped on the floor in puddles of their own blood. Aside from the gruesome display, Violet felt proud that the Inquisition was behind her, that they’d taken down this crazed magister so easily. That Cullen and Leliana and Josephine were there for her, even if she couldn’t see them, even though she’d gone against their orders when she met with Persephone.

“Your men are dead, Alexius,” Violet sneered at him; it was hard to keep the gloating tone from her voice.

“You...are a mistake!” the magister snarled at her. “You never should have existed!”

Then the mage took out some sort of amulet or medallion and it started glowing in his palm, magic crackling around it like electricity. Dorian’s eyes widened and he brought his staff around in an arc, shouting, “No!” just as magic exploded in front of them. A whirling, green vortex opened before them, and Violet felt herself sucked into it, terror suffocating her.

Then she collapsed into a puddle of water--more than a puddle, really. When she stood, it reached her knees. She felt woozy, looking around, confused, coughing up sewage water. Dorian rose beside her, seeming just as dazed. There was a hulking mass of some sort of red mineral to her right, and bars like those of a cell. Where…? Hadn’t they just been in the Main Hall of Redcliffe Castle?

“Dorian…” Violet started as two masked guards ran in, swords raised.

“Blood of the Elder One!” one of them cursed. “Where did they come from?”

Violet swore and drew her daggers. Well, it seemed no one knew where they were. Dorian dispatched one of the guards with a spell and Violet gutted the other. Then Violet turned to Dorian as she sheathed her daggers, a question on her lips.

“Displacement? Interesting!” he said. Violet stared at him gape-mouthed. What? He started to explain that Alexius hadn’t just simply moved them to the castle’s dungeons, but had torn a hole through time and sent them...to when?

Violet felt like the cell they were standing in was much too small. She couldn’t breathe. She twisted her ring and took several steps away, backing into a corner. “Take us back. To...wherever--whenever--you know what I mean! Now!”

Dorian gave Violet a concerned look and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Violet felt a trickle of healing magic, and it calmed her somewhat. “It’s not really a matter of snapping our fingers, Herald, but I assure you: we’ll find a way. However, that won’t be possible if one of us loses their head and panics.”

Violet nodded sheepishly, staring at the filthy water flooding the cell. She swallowed the lump of panic in her throat. Right. She had...responsibilities. She had to be strong. “Right. Sorry. I just...it’s unsettling.”

Dorian chuckled. “Believe me, I understand. But don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

As much as Violet hated being treated like she couldn’t take care of herself, she really appreciated Dorian’s words. It wasn’t like she had a choice in whether or not to trust him. She needed him as much as he needed her in order to get out of this...temporal hellhole.

They wandered through the maze of dilapidated cells. The stagnant water filled the entire dungeon with an awful mildew-y smell, and red lyrium grew from every surface. Violet could hear it sing in her head, and she tried desperately to block it out. But the song seemed to be coming from within her own mind.

Then they found Cassandra, praying to Andraste in her red lyrium-filled cell. Violet ran to her, jimmied open the lock for the cell, and pulled Cassandra out in a bone-crushing hug. The poor woman seemed delirious, convinced that Violet and Dorian had died.

“I’m right here,” Violet assured her. “Dorian says that Alexius only sent us through time. For us...we were just with you in the throne room of Redcliffe Castle.”

“Can we prevent this all from ever happening?” Cassandra asked weakly, her voice distorted with red lyrium. Violet glanced at Dorian and nodded.

“Maybe,” Dorian corrected her. “If I can find the amulet Alexius used to cast the spell, I could reverse it…”

“Come on, then,” Violet insisted. “We should keep moving.”

They found Varric--poor Varric, surrounded by red lyrium--and sprung him from the cell. Apparently, this “Elder One” had assassinated Celene and then marched with a demon army on Thedas. Maker’s breath, they were doomed if Dorian couldn’t reverse Alexius’s magic. Violet took a deep breath, trying desperately to keep it together. She couldn’t fall apart, not now. Not when the entire fate of the world was on hers and Dorian’s shoulders.

Then they found Fiona in one of the cells. She seemed to have her bearings about her more than the others. She told them what she could of the red lyrium, of the Elder One’s plans, even the date. Violet felt breathless. An entire year. All this...in just one short year. Violet felt a comforting hand, briefly squeezing her shoulder. It made her strengthen her resolve to see this through, and to punch this Elder Shmelder in the Maker-damned throat.

They continued upwards to find Leliana, whom Fiona insisted was there somewhere. The stench of decay, of rot, of blood permeated the area, and Violet knew with a shudder that these were the torture chambers. Her family had them in the dungeons of their grand estate--never used them, as far as Violet knew, but they existed. The odor never really went away.

Violet burst into a room where she heard a guard interrogating someone, her eyes falling on the Nightingale strung up by her wrists, her face lined with wrinkles, cuts, and bruises. The guard turned as Violet entered, and Leliana took her chance to kill her captor, wrapping her legs around the man’s neck and twisting with a sickening crack. The man fell to the floor and Leliana relaxed. Violet didn’t miss the terrifying gleam in the woman’s sunken eyes.

“You’re alive!” Leliana gasped as Violet unchained her, fighting the tears that prickled her eyes.  _ Come on, Trevelyan, you’re better than that _ , she reprimanded herself. The spymaster didn’t seem to give a single shit as to how they got there; she only wanted them to find a solution. Violet couldn’t blame her. To be honest, she needed someone with that sort of determination and single-mindedness right now. She needed someone to ground her and give her strength, because she was terrified that she was going to fall to pieces at any moment, and she couldn’t do that.

“Are you...the only one left?” Violet asked, her voice trembling. “Where are Cullen, and Josephine? All the others.”

Leliana moved with purpose, retrieving her bow from a chest. “Dead. Cullen was the first, thanks to the red lyrium’s effect on him.”

That shook Violet terribly. Sure, she didn’t get along with Cullen so well, they had many disagreements at the War Table, but...no one deserved this. And poor Josephine, such a sweet woman, so determined to do good...Violet swore that  _ when _ they made it out of this awful future, she’d try harder than ever to show her appreciation for them.

Then Leliana laid into Dorian and Violet, briefly, but with all the bite of a blizzard. They couldn’t let this future happen. The words cut Violet to the bone, but she found the strength to keep moving in them. To make sure this never happened. To ensure that her friends would never have to endure this.

“Where would Alexius be?” Violet asked, more to give herself direction than anything else.

“In the nicer part of the castle, I’m sure,” Dorian answered with a sniff. “If there is one.”

They moved quickly upwards, closing Rifts as they went. Maker...there were  _ so many _ . And there was red lyrium  _ everywhere _ , spires of it reaching up to the ceiling. Alexius was paranoid, which was no surprise, so some complicated mechanism locked the door to the throne room. They couldn’t reach him without five specific shards of red lyrium to unlock the massive door. They found one on one of his lackeys, and Violet sighed in frustration. She didn’t like playing games.

It took longer than Violet anticipated to find the remaining red lyrium shards; she could sense that Leliana was growing more and more anxious, and that made Violet more nervous. Finally, though, they recovered the red lyrium shards and returned to the main hall to unlock Alexius’s door. They found him inside, facing away from them, Felix crouched beside him. He didn’t seem to notice their entrance; but Violet would make sure he did.

“Alexius!” she snarled, gripping her blades tightly. “It’s time to pay for your crimes.”

“I knew you would reappear,” Alexius muttered to himself, sounding resigned. “Not that I knew when; but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you.” Bitterly, he added, “My final failure.”

“Was it worth it?” Dorian asked, sounding disappointed. “Everything you did to the world? To yourself?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” the magister replied, hanging his head. “All we can do is wait for the end.”

“It  _ does _ matter!” Violet insisted. “I will undo this.”

“How many times have I tried? The past  _ cannot _ be undone.” Alexius sighed. “All that I fought for, all that I betrayed, and what have I wrought? Ruin and death; there is nothing else. The Elder One comes: for me, for you, for us all.”

Violet was about to retort angrily when she noticed movement to the side of Alexius. Leliana was there, hoisting Felix to his feet and pressing a short blade to his throat. Alexius stumbled back, looking alarmed, reaching out to his son. Now that the boy was standing, Violet saw just how twisted he was. His cheeks were hollowed and his hair was gray. His eyes were glassy and he didn’t seem to notice or care that he was being held at knifepoint. He was slack against Leliana. He was barely alive.

“Felix!” Alexius breathed.

“ _ That’s _ Felix?” Dorian demanded angrily. “Maker’s breath, Alexius, what have you done?”

“I saved him,” Alexius whispered insistently. “Please, don’t hurt my son. I’ll do anything you ask.”

Violet deliberated for a moment, worrying her lower lip. “Hand over the amulet,” she decided. “And we’ll let him go.”

“Let him go and I swear you’ll get what you want,” Alexius assured them.

“I want the world back,” Leliana said darkly before she slit Felix’s throat and let his dead body fall to the floor in a heap.

“NO!” Alexius roared, slamming his staff to the floor, a beam of green light shooting out and knocking Leliana to the floor. Violet leapt up the few steps to Alexius, slicing through the air with her daggers, her companions right behind her and lifting their weapons.

The fight was brutal. He kept disappearing and reappearing on the other side of the room, gaining an advantage since he could attack from a distance. Luckily, between Leliana’s arrows, Varric’s bolts, and Dorian’s spells, they were evenly matched.

The magister, in all his crazed desperation, opened Rift after Rift, letting demons pour into the main hall and add to his assault. A hole was burning in Violet’s coat from demonic goo that could sizzle through leather. She ignored the searing pain from the wound coupled with the Mark on her hand flaring, taking out a lesser terror that sprung from the ground at Cassandra’s feet, knocking her askew.

Violet raised her left hand to close the Rift, panting slightly, then tipped back a health potion to keep the pain at bay and to boost her stamina. Then they advanced on Alexius again, wearing him down. Violet could see his reactions slowing, his moves becoming sloppier--and more dangerous. Finally, she snuck up behind him and slid her dagger into his back, right through his kidney. She heard him grunt, a scream caught in his throat, and then the mage fell forward, dropping his staff as he bled out on the stone floor.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” Dorian mused. “All those lies he told himself, the justifications… He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius…”

Violet looked up at Dorian with concern. “I know this must be hard for you, Dorian, but we can help him. This Alexius was too far gone. But the Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with.”

Dorian didn’t seem very consoled. “I suppose that’s true.” He turned his attention away and removed something from Alexius’s body. “This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the Rift.”

Leliana walked up to them, looking sour. “An  _ hour _ ? That’s impossible! You must go  _ now _ !”

Her plea was punctuated by the building shaking and rumbling, and a great, guttural roar sounding--closer than appreciated. Loose stones cascaded from the ceiling and walls with tendrils of dust. When Leliana looked up, there was fear in her eyes, something that made Violet’s blood run cold. But there was also a solid conviction.

“The Elder One,” she told them.

Cassandra and Varric shared a look, nodding to each other. Then the Seeker spoke. “We’ll go on ahead, take out as many as we can. Leliana, you’re the last line of defense. Give them what you’ve got.”

Violet stared in open-mouthed shock from Cass to Varric to Leliana. “What? What are you talking about? You’re not--You’ll die if you go out there! No--I won’t let you commit suicide.”

Leliana took a step closer to Violet. “Look at us. We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.” Cassandra and Varric turned away, heading out of the hall. “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

The doors closed behind Varric and Cassandra, and Violet felt a wretched anger at herself form in her gut. Maker, this was all her fault. Even if their sacrifice let them  _ all _ live and gain another chance...Violet wasn’t sure she could let her friends throw their lives away for her.

Leliana stood facing the stone doors, bow at the ready. Dorian bent over the amulet, murmuring under his breath as he tried to figure out how to reverse the spell. Violet stood beside him, staring at the wall because she was sure that if she saw Leliana’s steely determination or the slight tremor of Dorian’s hands, she’d break down sobbing. Maker, she really wasn’t cut out for this. It was easy to pretend to be strong when she had her stronger friends behind her and beside her. It was a lot harder when they were broken and desperate and dying.

The sounds of the fighting grew louder as Dorian managed to get the amulet to spark. After a few more minutes, it glowed green and hovered just above his palms. Something hit the door, causing it to rattle and dust to fall from the ceiling. Violet took an unconscious step closer to Dorian, who offered her a grim half-smile of encouragement. Violet swallowed. Then soft, Orlesian-accented words reached her ears. She looked back to Leliana, who was raising her bow and reciting a verse of the Chant, her voice impassioned.

“Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame,” she said, voice ringing as the doors burst open with a flash of ghastly green light. Demons and Venatori entered, confident, even as Leliana’s arrows took them out one by one. Violet gasped quietly as she saw a terror toss Cassandra’s lifeless body to the floor.

Leliana let the arrows loose rapidly, one after the other. “Andraste, guide me. Maker, take me to your side.” Violet watched in horror as an arrow pierced Leliana’s shoulder and she grunted in pain. Violet took a few steps toward the woman, her eyes glistening, but Dorian grabbed her hand.

“You move, and we  _ all _ die!” he shouted over the din of fighting and swirling magic. Violet took one last look at Leliana, who was battering her foes with her bow, before looking at the whirling Rift Dorian had opened. Violet heard a demonic growling and glanced back just as a Venatori grabbed Leliana in a chokehold, a terror advancing on them. Violet couldn’t tear her eyes away as the terror slashed at Leliana, blood splattering as Leliana cried out in pain, the life leaving her eyes. Then everything was gone, swallowed in a cloud of blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually found this chapter REALLY hard to write, and for several reasons: firstly, I know I said I don’t like to repeat dialogue that you already know from the video game bc it gets boring. BUT it’s necessary to see Violet’s personality and character development, so you’re stuck with it. Secondly, I had a lot of trouble getting Violet’s emotions across aptly. So. If it’s a little confusing when I describe her confliction and anger and melancholy, just roll with it. Hopefully, you’ll get it. She’s terrified of losing people--attachment issues and whatnot. I think it'll be easier to get her as the story progresses. Third: I don’t like writing death :/
> 
> I really enjoy writing Leliana though! She's one of my favorite characters because of her progression and development throughout the video games. I hope I did her justice. She's kinda tough to write.
> 
> Edit: Yikes I forgot to add the chapter name. So I added it.


	6. Group Effort

They arrived back in the main hall of Redcliffe Castle in a puff of smoke. Violet straightened and saw Alexius and Felix staring at them as the smoke cleared. Violet advanced on Alexius with half a mind to punch the mage, as Dorian commented, “You’ll have to do better than that.”

Violet smirked, and probably would have decked Alexius if he hadn’t looked so broken and she hadn’t been so exhausted--emotionally and physically. Alexius fell to his knees before them, hanging his head in gaunt resignation. Despite the man’s submissive posture, Violet felt a vicious fire in her belly--she’d just seen her friends  _ die _ for her sake.

“You failed, Alexius,” she spat acidly, glowering down at the man. “How forgiving is your  _ Elder One _ ?”

“You won,” he admitted despondently. “There’s no point in extending this  _ charade _ .”

Felix approached his father, kneeling down beside him and offering a small smile. “It’s going to be alright, Father,” he assured him.

“You’ll die,” Alexius said, his voice breaking as he stared at his son, pain evident on his face. Violet looked away. Her mother had looked much the same when Persephone had been taken to the Circle.

Felix’s smile melted away. “Everyone dies.”

Alexius shook his head and closed his eyes, then rose to his feet, letting the Inquisition soldiers arrest him and lead him away.

“Well! I’m glad that’s over with,” Dorian said, sounding rather chipper. Violet eyed him sideways, the corner of her lip quirked slightly.

Then the door of the main hall opened and a dozen armored soldiers filed in and took their positions by the marble posts in the room. Dorian eyed them suspiciously and murmured, “Or not…”

Violet watched in stark awe as the king and queen of Ferelden entered, both looking royally pissed off. “Grand Enchanter Fiona!” The king sounded just as angry as he looked.

Fiona walked forward, looking frightened but trying not to show it. “King Alistair! Queen Anora!” she greeted, sounding rather apprehensive.

“When I granted your mages sanctuary, I thought it was understood that they would not force my people from their homes,” King Alistair continued furiously.

“Your Majesty,” Fiona began worriedly, “let me assure you, we never intended  _ any _ of this…”

“Your intentions ceased to matter when my people were threatened! I am rescinding my offer of sanctuary, and you and your followers will leave Ferelden at once.”

“But...we have  _ hundreds _ who need protection! Where will we go?” Fiona stared at the queen in dismay.

Violet stepped forward. “You know, the Inquisition still needs mages to help close the Breach…”

Fiona squared her shoulders somewhat. “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“Hopefully better than what Alexius gave you,” Dorian said. “The Inquisition  _ is _ better than that, yes?”

Fiona seemed rather chagrined. “It seems...we have little choice but to accept whatever you offer.”

Violet licked her lips, glancing at her companions as she figured out a way to sound more like Josephine. She twisted her ring as she organized her thoughts. “We...would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition’s side.”

“Generous offer,” Anora noted. “I doubt you’re going to get a better one from  _ us _ .”

Fiona looked down contemplatively, then back to Violet. “We accept. It would be  _ madness _ not to. I will gather my people, and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed. You will not regret giving us this chance.”

Violet grinned at the elf, then turned to see her sister standing off to the side. Persephone looked relieved, but when she caught Violet’s eye, all she did was give a curt nod. Violet worried at her lip, the coldness in her sister’s green eyes chilling her to the bone.

***

Violet, Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric rode back to Haven ahead of the mages. Violet felt rather...proud of their success, but the events had upset her. They camped overnight halfway to Haven, and Violet could barely sleep, plagued by nightmares. By the time they reached Haven late the next morning, Violet was exhausted.

Violet invited Dorian to accompany her as the advisors waylaid her in the Chantry to discuss what they’d seen. Not only would he be able to help her explain...everything that had happened to them in that bizarre future, but she needed the support from someone who experienced it, too.

It took most of the afternoon to explain in detail what had happened. Dorian told over most of the end, Violet fearing her voice would crack or she’d start crying. She couldn’t cry in front of these people. Even if she’d started to think of Cassandra as her friend, she wasn’t sure if the older woman thought the same.

“There  _ will _ be abominations among the mages,” Cullen told them matter-of-factly, sounding and looking rather sour about the mage alliance. Violet glowered at him, folding her arms under her chest, recalling that future-Leliana had said  _ he _ was the first to die. She also recalled how she’d vowed to try harder to get along with him. “We must be prepared.”

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance, it makes the Inquisition seem... _ incompetent _ at best, tyrannical at worst!” Josephine argued.

Cullen rounded on Violet. “What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open!”

Violet scoffed, all ideas of being kinder to him evaporating. “They’re not...animals with no control over themselves. Maybe if they were taught to be confident in their powers, not scared of them, then we wouldn’t  _ have _ to worry about abominations.” Cullen’s and Cassandra’s faces darkened, but Dorian nodded at Violet and gave her an appreciative look. “We need them to close the Breach. It’s not going to work if we make enemies of them.”

Cullen sighed, frustrated. “I  _ know _ we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves!” He turned to Cassandra. “You were there, Seeker, why didn’t  _ you _ intervene?”

Cassandra answered evenly, “While I may not completely agree with her decision, I support it.” Violet fought a little smile as Cassandra continued. “The sole point of Violet’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks,” Dorian interjected. “And here I was just beginning to enjoy the circular arguments.”

“Closing the Breach is all that matters,” Cassandra finished with hardly a look tossed Dorian’s way.

Violet nodded. “The mages should arrive in the Valley shortly. We should leave as soon as we--and they--are able.”

Leliana murmured about the assassination of Empress Celene and the demon army Violet had seen in the dark future. Cullen said, “Let’s discuss this further in the War Room.” He turned to Violet, a slight smile on his face, one that Violet found made him seem much more attractive than his typical brooding expression. When he spoke, his tone was considerably lighter. “Join us. None of this means anything without your Mark, after all.”

She sighed. Of course. Her fucking Mark. That’s all that mattered. She might as well change her name from Violet Trevelyan to Mark Markson. Screw “Herald of Andraste”--she was the Mark of Andraste now. Violet bit her tongue, hard, and replied coolly, “Of course.”

“Well, I’ll skip on the War Council meeting, if you don’t mind,” Dorian decided. “I  _ would _ like to see this Breach up close, however.”

Violet turned to look at him curiously. “You’re...staying?”

“Didn’t I mention?” he continued. “I found the South so...charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

Violet smirked. “Well, there’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with. Future or present.”

“Excellent!” Dorian responded happily. “But let’s not get stranded any time soon, yes?”

***

The march to the explosion site of the Conclave wore on Violet’s already-frazzled nerves. She was tired--more tired than she’d ever been, and she was afraid she might wear away her father’s ring with all the twisting she’d been doing to it as of late. She walked with Cassandra, Dorian, Solas, Varric, Fiona, Persephone, and Cullen. Violet ignored Cullen and he ignored her. She was glad for the mutual dislike between them--it made the “disliking” part much easier for her. He was a bit of a prick anyway, she told herself. Stuffy ex-Templar. She had every reason to dislike him, and he had every reason to dislike her.

What hurt, though, was how Persephone ignored her, despite her few attempts at conversation. Not that she didn’t expect it. If Persephone still hated her, then so be it. Violet had endured the nightmares of...that day, she’d endured the guilt of being the cause of her father’s death, she’d endured being separated from her best friend, her sister. She could endure her sister’s bitterness.

Cullen picked up on Violet’s emotions. He cleared his throat and spoke formally. “Everything okay, Herald?”

Violet sighed. “Fine. The sooner we close this damned Breach, the better. I’d rather be...anywhere but here,” she finally muttered, looking around at the smoldering wreckage around them. Cullen pretended that that didn’t bother him. She was talking about the Conclave, obviously, the site of the explosion. Not of the Inquisition itself. Right? Right. If he could be home with his siblings, he would, of course, be there. But he had an obligation. So did Violet, and she seemed to realize it, even if she was resentful of it. And it was more than just her Mark.

They were silent until they arrived at the destroyed Temple. Violet picked her way down to the center with her companions and the mages. In such close proximity to the Breach, her left hand flared angrily, green sparks jumping from her palm. It throbbed painfully, like a bad toothache multiplied tenfold. She grimaced and looked down at it like it was separate from the rest of her body. Then she approached the Breach as Cassandra and Solas addressed the mages.

Pain flared through her body and she grunted, fighting to get close enough to the Breach to seal it. Then the mages, one by one, pounded their staves into the rubbly ground, lending their power to Violet. She could  _ feel _ it, swirling in her blood with the magic of the Breach as she tethered herself to it. In that moment, she felt braver than ever before--but also more afraid. She might really die--right here, right now. The magic, the Mark, the Fade--it might all overwhelm her and kill her.

Then everything flashed white and Violet was thrown backwards with the force. Everything hurt like a bitch, but she felt certain that she wasn’t dead. Yet. All she wanted was to pass out, to disappear into whatever blackness was awaiting her, but she forced herself to her knees. She looked up, exhausted, as Cassandra and Cullen approached her, helping Violet to her feet.

“You did it,” the Seeker said, sounding partially awed.

Violet turned to her with a smile. “No,  _ we _ did it.”

Cheers erupted from everyone present. Violet grinned and looked up at them all, applauding  _ her _ . She didn’t want the honor or the worship, but damn, it felt  _ good _ to be doing  _ good _ .

***

Everyone returned to Haven for a celebration that would last long into the night. Violet planned on dancing until she couldn’t stand anymore, then drinking until she passed out. If she got laid during that time, all the better! After the past few weeks, she could really do with a good screw. She’d been squashing the urge the entire time, what with travelling and nearly dying. She needed a distraction, a stress-reliever.

Violet danced with anyone who approached her--Sera, mostly, but also Blackwall, Dorian, Varric, Iron Bull, and several soldiers and scouts--some of whom tried to cop a feel (mostly Sera). Violet didn’t mind. She was so exuberantly happy...and a little tipsy. She flirted with whoever flirted with her, and probably did not seem particularly “holy,” considering she was supposed to be Andraste’s Herald. But after a while, the events of the past few days caught up with her, and she found herself craving solitude. So she slipped away from the party and headed to the outskirts of the bonfire’s glow, where she could blend in with the shadows more easily.

She saw Cullen, also watching the party, and approached him slowly, not sure what she’d say. Something stupid, no doubt. But…Violet found that she wanted to stay and help the Inquisition restore peace, and that meant she had to make her own peace with Cullen. She’d been unfair to him. She….found that she  _ didn’t  _ want to dislike him. She wanted to at least be on civil terms with the man, if she would be working and fighting beside him. He didn’t deserve the awful things she’d thought or said about him.

“Tired of dancing already?” Cullen asked, glancing at Violet briefly, his tone even but...tinged with something Violet was too tipsy to identify.

“Don’t get me wrong, Cullen, I love a good party,” she responded, smiling, her kiss-swollen lips stinging slightly. “But...today--the past few weeks, really--have been...taxing, as I’m sure they’ve been for you, too. I think I deserved a breather, hm?”

“Will you stay?” Cullen asked suddenly. Violet looked up at him, her bruised lips curling at the color that flushed his cheeks. “With the Inquisition, I mean. We need to find this  _ Elder One _ and stop his plot...and there are still lingering Rifts that need closing…”

Violet nodded, sighing disappointedly as her smile slid away. “Ah. Of course. My fucking Mark.” She lifted her hand, looking at the green light sparking around it. Cullen looked taken aback by the venom in her voice. “You know,” she continued, “And here I was, thinking that people--especially my advisors and friends--had stopped seeing me as a means to an end.” Her voice was hard and flinty. “That they saw me as more than just this.” She shook her left hand pointedly, and it flared with her anger, which just fueled her rage. “How foolish of me!” Then she stormed past him, bumping him hard with her shoulder.

“Violet,” Cullen said, sounding frustrated by her reaction, but also angry at himself. He grabbed her arm to turn her around, but she shoved him off.

“Save it, Cullen,” she retorted. “I’m not nearly drunk enough to talk to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen murmured, rubbing the back of his neck, not looking at Violet. “I didn’t mean to cause offense. I just...you should stay.” He met her eyes as he said this last bit, and his honey-colored eyes were sincere. “With...the Inquisition, I mean. Not just to...close Rifts.”

Violet looked at Cullen, a handful of steps away, blushing and watching her nervously, and she felt herself flushing--and it wasn’t just from singing and dancing. She bit her lip before answering. “I might,” she replied after a moment. “Someone’s gotta keep you and the other advisors from killing each other.”

Cullen look surprised at that. Then he offered Violet a slow, honest smile, and Violet found herself reciprocating it. She felt something in her stomach flutter and the smile slid away. She cleared her throat, looking away from Cullen nervously.

“I...should go,” she said suddenly. “There’s a cask of Chasind Sack Mead with my name on it. Varric and Sera will polish it off without me.” Then she hurried away, ignoring the hammering in her chest and Cullen’s startled goodbye. Maker’s breath, what was  _ wrong _ with her?

“So,” a voice from the shadows of the path drawled, startling Violet and making her yelp. She turned to see Persephone step out from the darkness beside her. “You’re screwing the commander?”

Violet blushed scarlet and looked away. “I--we are  _ not _ ; we can barely tolerate each other.”

“He is kind of hot,” Persephone continued as if Violet hadn’t spoken. “Those arms, mmm. I’ve seen him sparring, he’s marvelous. He looks so  _ strong _ and  _ capable _ . Especially in bed. Are you honestly not fucking him?”

Violet started in horror at her little sister. How could she be using such coarse language so casually? She was...how old, again? Twenty-one? Violet blinked at that--she still pictured her sister as a crying eleven-year-old being escorted away by Templars. After all, that was the last time she’s seen her before Redcliffe.

“He and I--we never--we’re not--ugh!” Violet folded her arms, exasperated. “Cullen is an insufferable prick, but he’s also my colleague. Being civil toward him on occasion does  _ not _ mean we’re sleeping together.”

Persephone shrugged. “Well, if you don’t, then maybe  _ I _ will.” A mean smile curled her lips. “Ooh, does that make you jealous, Vi? That I could have him on his knees, begging me to touch--”

Violet advanced on her sister, getting  _ right _ in her face. Persephone fell silent, and Violet was viciously pleased to see a glint of fear in her sister’s face. “Do not think,” Violet began, her voice low and dark and dangerous, “that because we have allied ourselves with the mages, that that safety extends to  _ all _ of them. I  _ will _ have you removed if I need to. How long will you fare out there on your own, dearest sister?”

Persephone’s eyes narrowed, and she rose to her full height--only an inch taller than Violet, but it made her seem much more imperious. “I will not be cowed by a  _ murderer _ of kin. Half the mages here follow me over Fiona. Do you think they will stand idly by and watch as you cast out their leader because you’re  _ jealous _ ?” She snorted, and her voice rose steadily as she spoke. “You’re pathetic, Violet. You don’t know what it’s like to struggle, to hurt, to watch everything you love be torn away by the person you trust most. You did that to me, you wench, you took  _ everything _ from me! You don’t  _ deserve _ anything!”

Violet stared up at her sister, her heart racing like a rabbit’s. Oh, Maker, no this was what she’d been afraid of ever since she found out Persephone was with the rebel mages. This confrontation that she’d been avoiding for ten years. She quailed under her sister’s poisonous glare, blinking away tears, wishing she could melt into the ground.

“I didn’t mean to--” Violet began, her voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t,” Persephone growled, pointing a finger at Violet. It crackled with magical energy. “Don’t you dare try to excuse yourself.  _ You killed Papa _ . And you betrayed me. You filthy slut.” Persephone spat at Violet’s feet and then stormed off, the shadows seeming to cling to her. Violet stared after her for a moment before her knees gave out and she collapsed to the snow, which soaked through her leather trousers. She gasped for air as the tears came, flowing freely from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed quietly as she curled up into herself on the cold, hard ground.

Maker, she wished Persephone had killed her, that day ten years ago.

“Herald?” a familiar Nevarran voice called. “Violet?”

Violet sat up quickly and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She clambered to her feet, feeling numb from the cold, just as Cassandra reached her. “Seeker,” Violet greeted, voice hoarse. She cleared her throat and kept her eyes low so that the older woman couldn’t see that they were red and puffy and moist. “Can I help you?”

Cassandra looked at Violet for a long moment before speaking. “Are you alright, Violet? I understand that the past few days have been hard, but--”

“I’m fine, Cassandra,” Violet insisted, her voice stronger. “Really. What can I help you with?”

Cassandra seemed unconvinced, but continued anyway. “Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering Rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory.” After a moment, she added, “Word of your heroism has spread.”

Violet shrugged modestly. “ _ My _ heroism? Cass, I’m no hero. I’m a...reckless and childish nobleman’s daughter who got caught in the wrong place, wrong time. You and Cullen and Leliana and  _ especially _ Josephine--you are the real heroes. And everyone else down there--all the soldiers, Varric and Solas and Vivienne and Blackwall, and everyone else. All I did was wave my hand at the sky.”

Cassandra looked skeptical. “Your modesty does you credit, Violet, but you had a  _ much _ bigger part in all this than just  _ waving your hand _ . Your determination brought us here.” She nodded, mostly to herself. “But you’re right. This was a victory of alliance. One of few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.”

Violet looked at Cassandra, then up to the sky. The closed Breach was just a quiet, dull green swirl in the sky now, a reminder of the almost-calamity. And how people arguing over religious bullshit had nearly let it spread and wipe out Thedas.

Violet cocked her head to the side curiously. “Do you hear that?”

“Are those the warning bells?” Cassandra asked worriedly, furrowing her brow. She and Violet headed toward the gates, where they saw people running around in fear and confusion, the few sober soldiers drawing their swords and heading out through the gates.

“Forces approaching! To arms!” Cullen cried as he ran past, trying to gather his soldiers--those that were sober.

“We must get to the gates!” Cassandra said to Violet, drawing her sword. Violet nodded and followed her, unsheathing her twin daggers. They gathered Dorian and Varric on their way to the gates, where Cullen stood, directing orders.

“One watchguard reporting,” Cullen told them. “It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked, appearing at Cullen’s side.

“None,” Cullen stated simply, glancing at Josephine.

Josephine’s jaw nearly dropped. “ _ None _ ?”

Violet stared at the gate, mind whirring. She wondered where Persephone was. Was she safe? Then the gate shook as light bloomed behind it briefly. A desperate, scared voice sounded from the other side. “I can’t come in unless you open!”

The advisors shared a look, and Violet saw what it meant:  _ Keep the gates locked _ . She strode forward anyway, before any of them could stop her, and pushed open the gate. She saw a man in heavy armor, an axe raised in hand, approach her with a roar, only to be cut down from behind. When he fell, a boy, only a few years younger than herself, stood there, his wide-brimmed patchwork hat concealing his face until he lifted his head.

Violet jogged down the steps, Cullen hot on her heels, as the boy spoke. “I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.” His voice had a very distressed tone to it, like this was a life or death matter for him personally.

Violet frowned, anxiety creeping up her spine. “What is this, Cole? What’s going on?”

“The Templars come to kill you.” Cole’s voice was strangely calm as he delivered this chilling news.

“Templars?” Cullen questioned, sounding rash and angry. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

Cole spoke again. “The red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages. There.” Violet was having trouble following his swift speech, but she followed where he pointed. On top of a rise stood two figures. Violet stared in horror at them. One was obviously a man, but the other...was monstrous.

“I know that man,” Cullen murmured. “But this Elder One…”

Violet’s blood turned to ice water as she looked at the Elder One. From what she could see, he had red lyrium growing out of his face. His shoulders protruded horrifyingly from his body, draped in feathers, and he was taller than any man could possibly be. She took an involuntary step backwards, closer to Cullen, and she fought the urge to grab his hand and squeeze as tightly as possible. She needed something grounding right now, something to keep her from bolting or fainting or crying or puking or all of that.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages,” Cole intoned.

Violet took a deep, shuddering breath, then turned to look at Cullen. “Cullen, give me a plan! Anything!” Her voice wavered, but she ignored it, taking another deep breath.

“Haven is no fortress,” he responded almost immediately. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.” Violet was relieved that he was fast on his feet, even in the face of such a plight. She took courage in that, and took another deep breath. She wasn’t alone, she reminded herself.

“Get out there and hit that force,” Cullen continued. “Use everything you can!”

He drew his blade, but before he could turn to address the soldiers gathered behind him, Violet grabbed his arm impulsively. “Commander--Maker, I’m sorry for being a dick to you earlier.”

He frowned. “Don’t apologize to me now, Herald. You can do that after the battle.”

Violet swallowed thickly. “But I might not--”

“You  _ will _ survive,” he assured her, fixing her with a hard look. She recognized that look; he often gave it to recruits that showed attitude, daring them to contradict him.

Violet nodded vaguely. “If you say so, Commander.” She looked at him, all serious and glaring, and she offered him a rakish grin to cover up her anxiety and fear. “See you after the battle, then, Chantry boy.”

Cullen looked like he  _ nearly _ smiled, but then he turned away toward his soldiers. “Mages! You--you have sanction to engage them! That is Samson: he will not make it easy. Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that bit of cliffhanger. Cough, cough, my beta reader suggested it, since I originally had the scene going through to the end of the battle, and it was double this length, at least. They thought it was a good stopping point :)
> 
> As always, I love comments and kudos! Feedback gives me life.
> 
> If you're curious, my tumblr is pansexualanarchist.tumblr.com. (Send me writing prompts, I post too little of my own work).


	7. Let Them Hear You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love you all dearly, my few but precious readers, here's another chapter, just two days after the last!!! (Look at me go, yeehaw)

Violet ran off with Dorian, Cole, and Cassandra, heading to the north trebuchet. A swarm of red Templars were gathered around it, attacking the soldiers attempting to ready the machine. Violet flanked the monsters, hacking away with  _ Mercy _ and  _ Wrath _ in equal measure, trusting Cassandra to have her back. Dorian was outside of the immediate fight, firing spells from a distance since he was the most vulnerable. Cole wove through the fight with Violet as Cassandra kept the attention of the heavy-hitters. The other soldiers in the vicinity helped keep Cassandra from being overwhelmed by the creatures attacking.

Violet ignored the still-fresh burn on her arm that twinged every time she swung her arm. She’d had it looked at, and the healer had slapped a poultice on her, and she’d insisted she’d tough it out. Now she really wished she’d pushed for some healing magic. But she’d refused at the time, believing there would be someone else who needed it more. She didn’t regret taking the high road, but she really wished she was at full fighting aptitude.

Another wave of Templars attacked, and one of the soldiers who still looked mostly human rammed his shoulder into Violet, sending her sprawling, her dagger flying from her hands. She rolled out of the way as he brought his sword down and she pushed herself to her feet, using a crate as support. She had to jump away a moment later as the Templar slashed at her, striking the crate instead, turning it to kindling. Then he froze, his sword falling from his limp hand as Cassandra cut him down. She bent down and picked up one of Violet’s daggers, thrusting it back into her hand. Violet took it gratefully with a nod, but she felt naked without  _ Mercy _ ’s familiar weight in her other hand.

Violet dashed under the trebuchet to retrieve  _ Mercy _ , guilt gnawing at her for momentarily abandoning the fight. Of course, she couldn’t fight adeptly with only one dagger. But what if someone died while she was busy reclaiming her weapon? She brushed the thought away as she returned to the fight, rearmed, as Cole slaughtered the last Templar.

More Templars thundered up the path, but it was a small unit, quickly dispatched by the Inquisition soldiers. “We’re ready to fire!” the woman manning the trebuchet declared as Dorian froze the last Templar. Encased in a block of ice, Violet had a moment to study...it. It was taller than a man, with a twisted, humped back dotted with spikes of red lyrium. Some sort of crimson magic glowed in its palms, and Violet cut it down quickly, letting it explode in a spectacle of ice shards.

“Centered and cleared!” the woman cried. “Fire!” Violet heard the satisfying sound of the trebuchet launching its load. She breathed a sigh of relief. “They’ll feel that,” the woman continued. “We’ll reload--get to the other trebuchet! It isn’t firing."

“Andraste’s tits,” Violet cursed under her breath, leading the way to the south trebuchet. It was besieged by red Templars. Violet threw down a pellet that made her appear rather invisible, then crept behind the Templars. She slashed and took two down, thankful for the chink in their armor right under the helmets. She took a few painful hits from the red Templar guard’s shield before her companions caught up. Cassandra charged the foe, knocking him to the ground with a roar. She shot Violet an annoyed glare, angry that the rogue had charged in alone. Violet returned it with a grin as she sliced into a marksman.

They pushed back wave after wave of Templars while the soldiers tried to figure out what was wrong with the machine. Violet hopped onto the trebuchet as the Templars’ number dwindled, and she got to work recalibrating it. This was so much more up Cullen’s alley--he loved all those calculations and trajectories, or whatever was involved in working with trebuchets. She turned the wheel, grunting at the strain it put on her injured arm. She’d reopened the wound for sure: she could see spots of blood through her torn sleeve.

Finally, the trebuchet was ready to fire. The arm swung forward, sending flaming ammunition toward the next mountain over. It struck the side of the mountain and exploded, causing an avalanche. Violet watched in grim relief as the landslide buried their enemies under the snow, saving Haven and her people.

The troops cheered heartily. Violet smiled, and it turned into a grin as Cassandra stood next to her and Dorian patted her on the shoulder. They did it. Two miracles in one day. Maybe she really was Andraste’s Herald, after all.

Then she heard an awful, unholy roar that rang in her ears as a bolt of red fire fell from the heavens, striking the trebuchet. It exploded in a shower of fire and splintered timbers, raining down on Violet and the other soldiers. Cassandra shoved Violet down into the ground, shielding her with her body.

Violet blinked a few times and Cassandra rose to her feet shakily, helping Violet up. She did a quick scan: most of the soldiers seemed okay. A few injuries from the explosion. Then a...a  _ something _ that greatly resembled a dragon flew past, the beating of its wings nearly knocking Violet back on her arse.

“We can’t face it here!” Cassandra cried. “We have to...do something!”

Violet swallowed she hadn’t heard the Seeker sound so distressed, except for when she found her in the dark future at Redcliffe. The comparison made Violet’s gut clench uncomfortably. She shook away the thought. She had a responsibility to these people. She was the Herald of Andraste. She had to...do something.

“Everyone to the gates!” Violet commanded, heading there herself. Her companions and the soldiers followed her. She gasped as the dragon--for it was definitely a dragon--flew over them again. One of the soldiers cursed and started openly weeping. Violet felt for him, truly, but this was no time for emotion. “Keep it together!” she snapped at the crying soldiers. He jumped to attention and nodded, scrubbing at his face.

“Blasted shoulder!” the blacksmith cursed as they approached the forge. “Herald! Help me with this door!”

There were crates obstructing the door. Violet threw herself against it, crying out as pain lanced up her arm. “Cassandra! I need your help!”

The warrior used her shield to protect her body and rammed into the door, destroying it. Inside the forge, all was ablaze. Harrit thanked them, but Violet told him to get to the gates and leave the forge. “Good one!” he said. “Only grabbing essentials--won’t die for the forge!”

They continued to the gates, Violet choking back a sob as she saw all the bodies littered around them. Oh, dear Maker, this was her fault. If she had sought out the Templars instead, none of this would have happened. If only she had listened to Cullen!

Cullen was waiting by the gates for them. The blacksmith was ahead of them, somehow, and he darted past them. Violet made sure all the soldiers got in first, along with Cass, Dorian, and Cole. Then she headed in as Cullen forced the gates shut. Violet stood beside him, wincing as the dragon roared again, soaring above their heads.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry!” Cullen cried. “It’s the only thing that might hold against that...that  _ beast _ ! At this point...just make them work for it.”

Violet swallowed hard at the cold tone to his voice as he uttered that last bit. This...couldn’t be their last stand. Cullen had promised that after the battle, she could apologize. If this was it, then...there would be no “after the battle.” Her heart started hammering even harder.

“Come on,” Violet said to her friends. “We...have to make sure the people get to the Chantry.”

They cut through the red Templars, Violet fighting her fatigue. She hadn’t slept properly in days. She was getting more battered and bruised by the minute, and she was just glad that her companions were good enough to keep her from being gutted.

They continued through the village, Violet determined to save anyone she could. In the tavern, she found Flissa trapped under a burning beam. Violet knelt beside her as Flissa murmured, “The Herald will save us...she will!” Violet blinked back tears, cursing the smoke for it. She pulled the plump woman out of the burning building and handed her one of their few health potions, despite the woman’s protests.

“We’ll be fine,” Violet assured her, pressing the flask into her hands. “You won’t make it to the Chantry without it, and we need to help other people. Take it. Now.”

Flissa nodded, finally, and took the potion, tipping it back and tossing the flask to the ground once it was empty. It shattered. Violet nodded and gave the woman a quick squeeze of the shoulder, giving her a stern push toward the Chantry.

They headed to a burning building, blocked by something on the inside. Violet looked around in desperation as she heard Seggrit’s cries. She saw a ladder and climbed up it, her sweaty hands slipping on the ash-covered rungs. She carefully crossed planks leading to the blown-open roof and jumped inside, grunting as she made contact with the ground, her ankle twisting painfully. She limped over to Seggrit and shoved the debris off of him and handed him a potion, too, then she shoved the crates from in front of the door and slammed into it, wincing and gritting her teeth as tears pricked her eyes. The door flew open and she shoved Seggrit through as she limped back toward her companions, tipping back a potion before leaping back into the fight.

Violet ran up the set of stone steps past the tavern again, cursing her circular route that wasted precious time. She saw a fire licking at the building up there, and several pots of flammable materials piled too close to the flames. She cursed angrily and dashed toward Adan, leaning next to him and helping him up, handing him a potion, which he refused.

“Drink it, dammit!” Violet cried as one of the pots cracked. Her eyes widened and she cursed as she grabbed Adan’s shoulder and shoved him to the side, practically tackling him as they rolled down the cold stone steps, a raging fire exploding behind them. Violet jumped to her feet and raced back up the steps, looking toward where Minaeve’s charred body was, the flames licking away any semblance of who she was. Violet sobbed loudly, then turned away, returning to her companions.

Adan stared at Violet, looking completely shell-shocked. Violet grit her teeth and got right in his face. “You get your arse down to the Chantry. If you die, I will kill you!” Then she turned away before anyone could see the tears glistening in her eyes. She could not--would not--blame him for Minaeve’s death. These things happened, she told herself. It couldn’t be undone, not now.

They headed back down the path. Violet roared as she ripped through the Templars, using her anger at having not been able to save Minaeve to fuel her aggression. She ignored the battering she received from their enemies, her only goal to get as many people as she could to the Chantry--herself be damned.

They approached the Chantry, and Violet saw Threnn being overwhelmed by a horde of red Templar horrors. Honestly, Violet didn’t like Threnn much at all, but the woman’s life was still precious. Violet sprinted toward Threnn’s tent and threw herself at one of the horrors, tearing it down as she leapt on its back. A red lyrium shard tore through her scouting armor, grazing her hip. She grit her teeth and hissed in pain, using it to continue her assault.

Threnn looked up at Violet. “Didn’t expect this from you,” she admitted, seeming rather abashed. “Thanks. Let’s go.”

They finally reached the Chantry’s doors. Violet shoved them open, scanning the semi-darkness for any more soldiers out on the field. Chancellor Roderick welcomed them, which set Violet’s hair on end. But despite his bureaucratic idiocy, he was (overall) a man of the Chantry, of charity and salvation, Violet had to remind herself.

“Move!” he cried. “Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter.”

Violet made sure the others all entered before her, then she ducked in, still with a slight limp, watching as Roderick collapsed against Cole. The boy looked up at Violet. “He tried to stop a Templar,” he told her. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” Violet was taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone, but the chancellor took it in stride.

“What a...charming boy,” he murmured as he allowed Cole to lead him to a chair. Throughout the Chantry, injured and dying people lay upon the floor. Stones fallen loose from the dragon’s onslaught littered the floor. Villagers were sobbing into their hands. Violet was surprised she wasn’t one of them.

Cullen ran over to Violet. “Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

Violet cursed, pacing. “Miracle after miracle, and it still isn’t fucking enough.” She looked at her left hand, the green light peeking through her gloves. “Fat lot of good you are.”

Cole spoke. “I’ve seen an archdemon. It was in the Fade, but it looked like that…”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen replied belligerently. “It’s cut a path for that army! They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Several terrified villagers and soldiers looked over at them as the words left Cullen’s mouth, and a few burst into tears and sobs. Their commander, confirming what they already knew, renewing their misery. Violet punched Cullen’s shoulder, pain lancing up her arm. “Watch it, Chantry boy,” she snapped. “That is the last thing these people need. They don’t see that real miracles come from what people do. They see a religious figure--me--and her religious back-ups--you, Leliana, Cassandra--carrying out the Maker’s word. They can’t handle reality like the rest of us, who have to grapple with the sick, twisted world we face every day. They need hope.”

Cullen looked at Violet, surprised. He ducked his head, sufficiently admonished. “I...you’re right, Violet. I should speak more carefully.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole told them evenly. “He only wants the Herald.”

Violet stared at this pale, gaunt boy with too-big, blue eyes ringed with dark circles. She looked around at all these people who called her Andraste’s Herald, who believed in her. Then she looked to Cullen. In a soft voice, she said, “I would sacrifice myself to this Elder One if it meant the rest of you would live.”

Cullen met her eyes, brown on green, and she could see the conflict in there. She’d just given him an easy solution. But could he sacrifice her? Would he be willing to live his life with her blood on his hands, if it meant saving Haven? He sighed angrily. “We don’t even know if he’d spare us if we gave you to him, Violet. There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchet, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun, Cullen,” Violet replied, voice calm and even. Almost...resigned, Cullen thought with a shudder. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

“We’re dying, but we can decide how,” Cullen countered. “Many don’t get that choice.”

There were several beats of silence as Violet stared at Cullen, hardly believing what he was suggesting. Then Cole spoke, softly, almost to himself. “Yes, that.” Then he addressed Violet and Cullen. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Violet turned away from Cullen’s captivating eyes, shaking her head to clear it. Maker… Roderick spoke, his voice wheezy. “There is a path,” he began. “You would not know of it, unless you have made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.” Violet waited impatiently as he continued, taking all the time in the world to tell them this  _ life-or-death _ information. Andraste’s arsehole, like they had the  _ time _ !

“This could be more than mere accident,” Roderick murmured. “ _ You _ could be more.”

Violet nodded. “Cullen, get the people through that path. If that thing is here for me, I’ll make him fight for it.”

Cullen took a step toward Violet, and she felt particularly aware of his closeness. Violet hated that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “And when the mountain falls? What about you?” The concern in his voice made Violet’s heart squeeze.

Violet turned away, looking down. She knew the answer. He did, too. But she couldn’t let anymore people die for her. Cullen’s brow lowered. He realized that this was not something she’d be talked out of. He set his jaw, then spoke, trying to sound optimistic--not his forte. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…”

Violet turned back to face him. She couldn’t stand the worry in his eyes. She bit her lip, then spoke, emboldened by the fact that these might be her last words anyone may hear. “Dammit, Cullen. I was serious--and right--when I said you were a prick earlier. But you’re...you’re a good man, too, and a fantastic commander. It’s been an honor fighting with you.” She placed a hand on his breastplate and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek briefly, the stubble rough against her lips.

Cullen looked shocked at her sudden display of affection, but came to his senses quickly as Persephone approached, head held high. “The mages are tending to those they can, Commander.” She barely spared a glance for her sister, and a dismissive one at that. Violet wasn’t looking at her sister, but Cullen thought he detected a hint of worry in the mage’s eyes.

Cullen nodded and turned away, addressing the soldiers. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!”

Cole shouldered Roderick, supporting him. The Chancellor spoke to her, then, before she could leave. “Herald, if you are meant for this, is the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.”

A few soldiers sprinted out of the Chantry to load the trebuchets. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline,” Cullen instructed, keeping his tone formal. Violet knew the tactic: no attachments if you’re professional. At least, none that will be reciprocated, that could be used against you, that could turn into something  _ more _ . She knew the tactic  _ very _ well. Violet nodded and headed out of the Chantry, her daggers sliding into her palms. Cullen spoke again, his voice much more impassioned now. “If we are to have a chance--if  _ you _ are to have a chance--let that thing hear you.”

Violet was stopped at the doors to the Chantry by Cassandra, Dorian, and Varric. “We told the others we’d watch your back out there,” Varric told her. “We’re not letting you face that thing alone.”

“Yes, you don’t get to keep  _ all _ the glory for yourself, Herald,” Dorian quipped.

“Violet,” she corrected. “But you can’t...I can’t ask you of this. Please. I don’t want there to be any more blood on my hands, whether I live or die.”

Cassandra’s face was hard, but there was sympathy in her eyes. “We’re with you, Violet.”

“On one condition,” she decided. She stared each of them in the eye before speaking. “When I give the say-so, you must leave, return to the Chantry, and race your arses up that mountain to the treeline as fast as fucking possible. I will  _ not _ let any more people die for me!”

Her three friends shared a look. “Very well,” Cassandra agreed. “We’ll do as you say.”

They followed her out of the Chantry. Violet paused at the top of the steps, looking out at the devastation before her. Cullen stared at her, the image of her back lit by flame. Persephone, too, gaped at her sister. Maker, in that moment, she could’ve sworn Violet was Andraste herself, surrounded by holy fire. Then she disappeared, and Persephone and Cullen shook their heads, herding the people toward Roderick’s secret tunnel.

Violet ran down the steps, heading toward the north trebuchet, the only remaining one. While Cass, Dorian, and Varric took on the Templars waiting there, Violet aimed the machine, sick at herself. She grit her teeth and ignored the pain all through her body as she turned the heavy, resisting wheel. Wave after wave of red Templars attacked. Then an atrocity Violet had never seen before lumbered up the path. It was a huge, hulking mass of red lyrium, twice the size of an average man. It had a huge claw of the mineral that it used to crash down on its enemies. Violet stifled a shriek in her throat as it raised spires of red lyrium from the ground.

Violet watched in awe as Cassandra leapt onto its back, sinking her blade between the shards of lyrium and twisting. The beast roared, shaking from side to side to dislodge Cassandra. She held on tight, twisting the sword deeper and deeper. Finally, with a tremendous roar, the beast lurched forward and crashed to the ground, dying. Cassandra stepped off of it unsteadily, reclaiming her sword. There were no more advancing Templars.

“Go, now,” Violet commanded sternly. “I’ll give you as much time as I can.”

Varric looked up at Violet sadly. “Heroes…there’s never a happy ending for them, Dynamite.”

Violet smiled weakly. “Thanks for that, Varric. And thank you, all of you, for everything.”

Dorian gave Violet’s shoulder and quick squeeze, and Cassandra surprised Violet--and the others, too--by hugging her fiercely. “Thank you, Herald,” Cassandra said. Then she smiled. “Violet.”

She watched as they retreated at full-speed to the Chantry. Then she set to turning the wheel, finally fully aiming the trebuchet. It was harder and harder by the minute. Violet heard the roaring of the dragon before it appeared above them, hurtling down toward them. Violet darted toward away as it loosed a breath of sparky fire. Something exploded, and the force sent Violet flying, tumbling head over heels. She huffed for a few moments, alone, before the stars disappeared from her vision and she could sit up. She rubbed her head, groaning. Maker, she would have a huge lump on her head if she survived this. She licked the blood off her split lip.

She rose to her feet as the Elder One approached through the flames. His arms were too long for his body and topped with long claws. His skin stretched sickeningly over his bony ribcage, and his face was scarred and lined, warped with shards of red lyrium. His dragon approached from behind Violet, growling. Maker, its teeth were as long as her daggers. It roared at her, a puff of rancid, hot air buffeting her backwards. Then it cried to the heavens, and Violet turned back to the Elder One.

“Enough,” he declared. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

Violet glared up at him, trying to seem fierce despite the terror coiling in her gut. “I don’t fear you, monster!”

It laughed cruelly. “Know me. Know what you  _ pretended _ to be. Exalt the Elder One. The  _ will _ that is Corypheus! You...will...kneel!”

“I will not!” Violet contradicted.

“You will resist,” Corypheus commented darkly. “You will always resist. It matters not.” He raised his left hand, and in it was a strange orb the size of a grapefruit. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins  _ now _ .”

The orb glowed red and he threw his right hand out toward Violet, a matching red glow around it. Violet’s Marked hand reacted violently, hissing as it sparked to life painfully. It started to rise, moving toward Corypheus. Violet clenched her teeth and held her wrist, as if to stop the magnetic pull connecting her to Corypheus’s orb. Corypheus started to monologue, and he clenched his right fist, causing Violet’s left hand to spark angrily, red mixing with the green. She fell to her knees with a cry of pain, tears biting her eyes.

“You used the Anchor to undo my work,” Corypheus muttered. “The gall!”

Violet gasped in pain. “What is this thing meant to do?”

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none,” he answered cryptically. “For you: the certainty that I would always come for it.” He advanced on Violet and picked her up by her wrist roughly, dangling her several feet off the ground. She hissed as she heard her shoulder  _ pop! _ “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire  _ in person _ . I found only  _ chaos _ and  _ corruption _ . Dead whispers. For a thousand years, I was confused. No more. I shall correct this blighted world, under no name but my own.  _ Beg _ that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and  _ it was empty! _ ”

Then he tossed Violet away like litter. She crashed into the trebuchet, crying out in pain as she slid down it. Maker, something was broken. Many somethings, if the pain racking through her body and the blood trickling from her lips were any indication. She slumped to the side as Corypheus approached again.

“The Anchor is permanent,” he declared furiously. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

Violet rose to her feet and snatched up a leftover sword, the weight unfamiliar and awkward in her hands. She braced herself against the trebuchet, favoring her left side.

“So be it,” Corypheus continued. “I will start again, find another way to give this world the nation--and  _ God _ \--it requires.”

Violet tried to stand straight before this villain. Then she looked past him as something moving caught her eye. She saw a flicker of flame shoot from the mountainside.  _ Cullen’s signal _ ! They were above the treeline! Violet almost sobbed with relief. But she wasn’t done yet. She could-- _ would _ \--end this, here and now, before it could begin properly.

“And you,” Corypheus snarled. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You  _ must _ die.”

Violet took a defensive stance with the sword. “Your arrogance blinds you,” she snapped. “Good to know. If I’m dying...it’s not today!” Then she turned and kicked the lever of the trebuchet, releasing the chain. The arm swung forward, its load flying from it and striking the mountain of Haven. Corypheus watched with a detached interest as the snow rumbled down the mountainside. Violet took her chance to run, hoping against hope that she could outmaneuver the avalanche. Corypheus turned and watched her, disgust on his face, as his dragon roared and picked him up before flying away, escaping the avalanche. But at least the rest were safe.

The avalanche caught up with her much too quickly, and Violet jumped as it bore down on her, into a patched hole in the ground, broken open by the assault, swallowing her as she fell into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!! I really liked writing it. I like writing dramatic things like this. Corypheus is a really fun character, too, which I get sounds odd, but I'm glad he's the bad guy in DAI. He's a great villain to write. Very dramatic. Also, I feel like in another universe, Violet could be on his side. Which may or may not happen in an AU of mine.
> 
> Anyway. Next chapter will be from Cullen's POV! Excitement.
> 
> Also, I was wondering: If I wrote a Violet/Cullen Avvar AU, would anyone be interested in reading it? Just wondering!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Beaten but Unbroken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's POV  
> Also a gore warning--hopefully not too gory, but I'd like to cover my bases.

Cullen paced back and forth by a small fire near the edge of the Inquisition camp, which was only recently set up. He’d done everything he could to keep busy--pitching tents, tending fires, gathering firewood, helping the wounded, distributing rations. But now, in this little clearing that they were camped in for the night, protected from the worst of the wind, there was nothing for him to do. He was left with his whirlwind thoughts. So he stalked back and forth in the glow of a nearby fire despite the weariness in his limbs, his mind whirring tirelessly as he tried to drown his thoughts.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the ground,” a voice said from a seat near the fire. Cullen paused to look over at the speaker. Persephone sat on a log, staring into the fire intently, its flames reflected in her familiar green eyes, so similar to her sister’s. She brought a hand to her face, a hand-rolled clove cigarette between her fingers. She took a drag on it before releasing her breath in a trail of smoke matching the thin tail rising from the butt of the cigarette.

“Pardon?” Cullen uttered, voice flat.

“Relax,” Persephone commanded, still not looking at him. She offered him her cigarette and he ignored it. Persephone took another drag. “She’s...she’s not coming back.”

“You don’t know that,” Cullen replied in a low voice.

Persephone sighed, standing up and drawing closer to Cullen, finally looking at him. Her eyes were hard and flat. “You saw what happened. If that Elder One didn’t kill her, then the avalanche surely did. Not to mention the blizzard, Cullen. It snowed for  _ hours _ . I don’t mean to be a downer, I’m just trying to be realistic. You should sleep. The people will need you.”

Cullen stared at Persephone, jaw set and face livid. He’d gathered from Violet and Persephone’s few interactions that they were not on good terms, but how could the mage so readily dismiss and abandon her sister? He shook his head, trying to reign in his frustration and bewilderment. “How can you say that?” he seethed between clenched teeth.

Persephone shrugged. “Not that she deserved it--no one deserves to be buried under an avalanche--but better her than me, yeah?”

Cullen’s loose hold over his anger snapped and he rounded on Persephone. “She’s your  _ sister _ \--”

Persephone cut him off icily. “She is no sister of mine. She stopped being my sister ten years ago.”

A bemused expression passed over Cullen’s face. He shook his head dismissively, choosing to ignore Persephone. He turned away from her and the fire, but he heard the crunch of snow under her boots that told him she was approaching him. He felt her presence just behind his shoulder.

“You do know what happened ten years ago, yes?” Persephone asked. Cullen turned and glared at her, and her eyes widened at what must’ve been written on his face. “Didn’t Violet tell you? Or your spymaster? I’m sure she knows all about it. Why don’t you ask her?”

“If Violet wanted--wants--me to know, then she’ll tell me,” Cullen all but growled at her. “We’ve all got skeletons in our closets.”

Persephone gave him an appraising look. “Very well. But if you ever grow tired of waiting for Violet to part with her dark secrets, you know where to find me.” She nodded to him, a dangerous sparkle in her eye as she dropped her cigarette and let it fizzle out in the snow. Then she turned and walked away, hips swaying. Cullen watched her leave, scowling.  _ Maker’s breath...what were those ominous parting words supposed to mean? _

Cullen shook himself, then set out to gather a small party to help him search for Violet. Something to feel useful, to stay busy. He wouldn’t let himself believe that she had been taken away from him--all of them. He shook his head as he led Iron Bull, Sera, and Ser Rylen, his second-in-command, back the way they’d come, taking one side of the wide valley, while Cassandra, Blackwall, Varric, and another two soldiers covered the other side.

Of course, he was awed by her selfless sacrifice, her dedication, her prowess as a fighter--even if she did fight dirty. There was every reason in the world for him to worry about her. He was her commander, after all. And she was kind and smart and determined to do good--the kind of woman the Inquisition needed. And her smile...the rare times she genuinely smiled, her nose scrunched and her freckles danced along her cheeks and the room lit up like she radiated sunshine. The world couldn’t lose a smile like that...He’d have to admit, he thought about her smile too often, her lips, her shoulders, her hands, and he realized with a jolt that he--

No. It was wholly inappropriate. Not only was it  _ not _ the time to ponder such things, but it was also unscrupulous since they were...coworkers. Colleagues. Distraction was dangerous--it could harm anyone involved with the Inquisition. He did not want to complicate things. He  _ could not _ complicate things. Not if they were to succeed.

They trudged through the deep powder, their legs sinking to the knee. Cullen felt the snow melt into his leather boots, seeping into his socks and making him shudder at the chill. He kept going, though, the others branching out to cover more ground, but always staying within sight of each other. He was glad the blizzard had subsided, at least. But that could just mean that Violet’s corpse was buried under a snow drift. He shook away the morbid thought quickly. He couldn’t think like that.

Movement against the white canvas of the mountain caught his eye and he turned to it lethargically, exhausted from searching and trudging and the idea of failure. His pulse sped up as he focused on the figure, identifying it as...something humanoid, moving slowly through the snow, arms out at sides.  _ It could just be a refugee _ , he told himself even as his eyes and widened and his jaw slackened.

“Seeker! It’s her!” he hollered over his shoulder when he found his voice again. He started running as fast as he could in the deep snow, just as the person he believed to be Violet collapsed. He increased his speed, desperate to reach her, to make sure she was alive, that Persephone was  _ wrong _ .

Cullen dropped to his knees beside Violet’s shaking body. She was paler than usual, so pale, and flecked with blood, so much blood. He picked her up carefully, scared of hurting her. You didn’t just  _ survive _ an avalanche unscathed, especially if you had to march by yourself through a blizzard afterwards. The blood covering her body was proof enough of that. Cullen hissed when he saw something sticking out of her arm, and blanched when he recognized it as bone. He rose to his feet as Cassandra and the others approached.

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra breathed in relief. “We must get her back to the camp immediately.”

The camp wasn’t very far. Cullen could see its lights against the black sky. It was maybe three hundred yards away. He shifted Violet slightly in his arms to carry her more gently, careful not to jostle her too much. Her eyes flickered briefly, brow furrowed in pain, but her expression smoothed out just barely as her hand gripped Cullen’s red coat that was draped over his armor. She breathed quietly, lips just slightly parted, a ghost of a ghost of a smile gracing her lips as she drifted off again.

***

Cullen lay Violet  _ very _ carefully on the free cot in his own private tent. The tents that were used as makeshift healing huts were full to capacity with the injured. He felt that it would do the people no good to see their savior lying prone and broken, blearily shifting from consciousness to sleep and back again.

Minutes later, Adan, recovered from his own injuries, entered the tent rather dramatically, along with Dorian and another mage that Cullen had seen in the healing tents but didn’t know by name. Adan knelt beside the cot where Violet lay, covered in blankets, her breathing shallow. Cullen took several steps back to give the healers plenty of room as the three started removing Violet’s insubstantial rogue’s armor, setting it aside to be cleaned, until she was left in a linen shirt and breeches.

Adan first checked Violet’s head for any injuries. Blood matted her white-blond hair to her forehead and covered her face in crimson streaks. Adan pushed her hair back from her face, his fingers brushing a deep gash at her hairline. Violet hissed and her face scrunched in pain. Her eyes fluttered open momentarily and she glanced around quickly, animal-like fear in her eyes before they landed on Cullen, standing in the corner. She looked back to the ceiling, tears standing in her eyes before she succumbed to unconsciousness again.

The mage healer, a woman, lowered the blankets and all three of them sucked in a breath when they saw the amount of blood that soaked her clothes. Adan took a small knife out of his pocket and cut off Violet’s shirt, removing it carefully. Cullen wanted to look away--knew it was the proper thing, that it wasn’t right to look at her when she was wounded and unconscious--but he couldn’t. It was terrifying to see her body in such a way. He’d seen her train in the yard of Haven, seen her completely naked in the public baths, and had tried hard not to admire her body. Here, now, seeing it bruised and broken, it made him ache sadly.

A bone jutted out of her right arm--thankfully, not her favored one. Her left shoulder was in an odd position, and Cullen was no doctor, but he’d seen his fair share of injuries in the Order; it looked like a dislocated shoulder to him. There was another gash, shallower this time, stretching from her right clavicle to just above her left breast. Her breastband was bloodied as well, and Cullen told himself he would leave the room if they removed it. It wasn’t right for him to look at her like that when he was...just a bystander.

The woman placed a hand just over the bone protruding from Violet’s arm. Sweat gathered on both of the women’s brows, and flyaway hairs stuck to the mage’s forehead. Cullen watched in horrified fascination as the bone  _ pushed _ itself back inside Violet’s arm and the skin started to knit back together rather sloppily. It would leave a nasty scar, for sure. Then Violet pitched over the edge of the cot and Dorian thrust a bucket under her as she retched from the pain. Her eyes fluttered open once more before she sobbed and collapsed back onto the cot.

Those were the worst parts, Cullen decided as time wore on and the talented healers worked on fixing their Herald. When Violet woke and screamed in pain, or curse fluidly, or retched or thrashed--those were always the worst.

The wound on her forehead was healed and her left arm was popped back into place with a well-placed shove from Adan. Violet cried out at that, eyes still screwed shut, and whimpered as she was rolled over. They tried to be careful in the movement, but Violet was dead weight.

Adan, Dorian, and the mage woman all froze when they beheld Violet’s back. Cullen craned his neck to see what had disturbed them. He saw purple bruises, a cut or two, and underneath all that…

Faded burn scars. Splotchy ones that covered her whole back, stretched grotesquely--they must’ve been old. They had a strange shine to them in the candlelight, and Cullen gasped in shock at seeing them. He took an involuntary step back, lip curled slightly in revulsion before he schooled his features back into a mask of polite concern. Not that Violet had a choice in what wounds she received (in most cases). It was just unexpected, that was all. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Dorian healed the minor wounds there, less experienced of a healer than the woman with them. Technically, he wasn’t a healer at all, but his studies into necromancy left him with quite a bit of knowledge of how the human body  _ worked _ . Then they carefully returned her to her back and pulled the blankets lower. Cullen winced at how violently Violet shook. Dorian murmured a few words and pressed a hand aglow with magic to her shoulder briefly. Violet sighed slightly and the shaking stopped.

The woman started carefully cutting off Violet’s breeches, leaving her in her smalls, revealing a stippling of bruises. Her ankle was swollen and red and purple, and Adan muttered, “Sprained,” as the woman mage set to healing it, concentrating carefully. The swelling went down dramatically and the bruising disappeared, but it still looked painful.

“That’s all we need,” Adan murmured gently to the female mage, who looked exhausted. She must’ve spent the last few hours tending to the injured. It was a surprise she had any mana left in her to heal Violet. Dorian and the apothecary looked weary as well, but who could blame them? “She can deal with a few bruises,” Adan added rather sadly. He obviously wished he could do more, but what was important was that Violet was not in any immediate danger.

Adan looked around and focused on Cullen, who hadn’t left his vigil by the doorway of the tent. “If her condition changes at all, send for me immediately. In about an hour, give her this potion.” Adan held up a small flask with a dark red substance in it. For a moment, it looked like blood. “It’s an embrium and elfroot concoction. Hopefully, it’ll help her heal faster.”

Cullen took the bottle with a nod. The three healers left, footsteps dragging, and Cassandra entered immediately after them, looking worried. When she saw Violet, she visibly sagged with relief. “Thank the Maker. She lives. She heals.”

“We should have a constant guard watching her,” Cullen said, blinking the sleep from his eyes, looking at Violet worriedly. “Find people willing--and trustworthy enough--to monitor her, make sure she’s safe. I’ll take first watch.”

“Cullen, you should sleep,” Cassandra insisted. “You’re tired. You’re barely standing.”

Cullen shook his head adamantly. “I’m fine, really.”

Cassandra had a dubious expression on her face, but question him no further. “Very well. I will return shortly with a list of volunteers.” She turned and left, the flap of the tent fluttering behind her.

Cullen pulled a chair up next to Violet’s cot and sank into it, rubbing his eyes. He placed the potion on the upturned crate functioning as a bedside table. He looked at Violet, sleeping, and then back at the ceiling. His eyelids felt heavy. But this was just like his Templar vigil, he told himself, he couldn’t fall asleep...but resting his eyes couldn’t hurt, right? He let them slide shut for  _ just _ a moment, but…

***

Cullen started awake when someone burst into the tent. He leapt to his feet, hand flying to his sword. He paused, however, when he saw who was there. Persephone stood there, a crackle of magic surrounding her, making Cullen’s hair rise slightly. Cassandra flew in a moment later, looking furious. Cullen glanced between the two women, then back to Violet, who was sleeping soundly, her breaths quiet and even.

“The Herald is not to be disturbed,” Cassandra said dangerously to Persephone.

“She’s my sister, I think I can wake her when I like,” Persephone replied with a haughty sniff. She made to approach Violet, but Cullen blocked her. The mage squared her shoulders even though she was nearly a head shorter than Cullen, and narrowed her eyes at the commander. “I’m not afraid of an  _ ex-Templar _ ,” she hissed quietly, voice laced with poison.

“Your  _ sister _ just went through hell and back,” Cullen growled. “And I fear there’s worse to come yet. I think she deserves a bit of rest. Not to be awoken by someone who abandoned her.”

Persephone looked affronted, then sneered. “So she and I are even, then.” She turned on her heel and stormed from the tent, and Cullen couldn’t sworn he saw a glint of tears in her eyes, but it could’ve just been the reflection of the candlelight.

“Siblings should not hate each other in such a way,” Cassandra remarked sadly, shaking her head slowly.

“There’s bad blood between them,” Cullen sighed. “I hope they can resolve it, and soon. I don’t want any problems from them.”

Cullen and Cassandra’s eyes met briefly, both heavy with sadness and stress. “I’ve established a guard rotation, Cullen. Iron Bull is taking the first watch over Violet, so you can go to sleep.”

“Seeker,” Cullen started in exasperation.

“You are  _ exhausted _ , Cullen,” she cut him off. “You were sleeping when I entered. You cannot monitor Violet if you’re fighting sleep.”

Cullen sagged in defeat. “Very well. But I  _ will _ take second watch. And Adan said she should take this after an hour.” He held up the vial. Cassandra offered a small smile in agreement and Cullen nodded as he left the tent to find someplace to rest. Violet was sleeping where he was supposed to--not that he had an issue with that--and most cots were taken. After a bit of searching, he acquired a bedroll and found a quiet corner near the huge campfire in the center of camp, and laid down to regain his strength.

***

“Ser!” a recruit’s voice called next to Cullen’s ear.

Cullen rose to his feet swiftly, ignoring the aching in his body from exhaustion, cold, and sleeping on the hard ground. “Report,” he said, trying to look commanding even though his curls were sleep-mussed and his cheeks were ghosted with a fine shadow of blond stubble.

The recruit swallowed nervously; Cullen obviously was succeeding. “Er--Ser Rylen is on guard in the Herald’s--I mean, your tent. He sent me to let you know that Her Worship is awake.”

Cullen nodded dismissively and frowned, noticing it was nearly light out--in fact, it was almost dawn. He cursed under his breath at Cassandra. She’d let him sleep in.

He hurried through the maze of hastily-erected tents to his own. He paused briefly outside it. He was...afraid, he realized. Nervous. To see the Herald, after all that, enduring  _ all that _ . Or maybe it was the image of her, outlined by flame, seeming to be a rebirth of Andraste herself…

Cullen pushed open the flap of the tent and entered. The tent was dark since the sun had yet to rise, but a single candle lit a halo around the cot in the corner. Upon it was Violet, propped up with a few pillows. She was still paler than usual, her skin shiny and waxy with sweat. There were dark hollows under her eyes due to lack of sleep and her healing from extreme injuries. There were bandages around the cuts that had persistently bled, but she was clothed in a loose-fitting shirt that was stained and riddled with tiny holes. 

Cullen forced himself to look at Violet in the eye. Her green eyes were tired and her blinks were heavy with exhaustion, but there was a light in them nonetheless--a fighting spark. Her chapped lips curved slightly with the beginnings of a smile, and Cullen felt his heart stutter. Thedas would once more see her smile.

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen sighed under his breath. The Herald may have had a mountain dropped on her, but she would never be broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look there's some development with relationships! Next chapter will focus more on Violet and Persephone :>
> 
> I doubt I'll have any more Cullen POV chapters. Maybe one more once I finally get to the smut (did I mention I loooove slow burn fics. Sorry). I might do a Persephone POV chapter though, after Adamant (which is not for a while woo boy I'm getting ahead of myself). But yeah ok.
> 
> So the next few weeks will probably be very sporadic updates bc Passover!!! So, basically, I'll either update a lot or very infrequently. It could really go either way. But yeah, oh well, guess we'll have to see!!
> 
> Also I'll probably start posting some short one or two chapters fics that fit into the storyline but would throw off the flow of the story itself. Filler episodes basically. Mostly companion quests and other interactions. And they would be posted separately.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! I love reading your comments and I live on kudos <3


	9. A Hero's Tale

When Violet came to, everything was heavy. Her limbs, her head, her eyelids. Half of her wanted to let sleep overtake her, but the other half clamored to be fully wake, to sit up and see where she was. Was she dead? No, death shouldn’t have hurt so much. Was she in Haven? Maybe… But what had happened?

Finally, through great power of will, she managed to pry her eyelids open. In the dimness, she saw the ceiling of a canvas tent. So maybe she was on a mission? A mission gone wrong, probably, judging from the pain in her shoulder, her arm, her head, her ankle, her  _ everywhere _ . Oh, Maker, she’d never make it to a sitting position.

She took a moment to collect herself, slowly remembering the events of Haven in stilted images. Something to deal with later. After surmising that the pain could only get better, she forced herself upright. She gasped as pain lanced through her arms and her torso, spots dancing in her vision. She heard rustling and someone’s hands were on her, helping her, placing pillows behind her. Violet tried to focus on whoever was assisting her, but she must’ve hit her head pretty hard--she could’ve sworn she was hallucinating.

“Maker, am I dead?” she groaned.

“Very nearly,” her sister chastised, sounding sleepy and irritated. There were several beats of heavy silence while Persephone checked Violet’s bandages.

“Why are you here?” Violet asked finally, trying not to sound rude, twisting her father’s ring. At least she hadn’t lost that.

A grimace twisted Persephone’s usually sweet face. She avoided the question, and asked one of her own instead. “Why did you stay behind?”

Violet looked at her sister, then away. She felt Persephone’s intense gaze focused on herself. It burned into her skin like a blade fresh from the forge. Violet bit her lip. “I had to.”

“ _ Why _ ?” Persephone pressed, leaning in slightly, eyebrows furrowed.

“Because who else would?” Violet snapped, turning to look at her sister. She frowned. “I knew it was suicide. But there was a chance to save all those people. So I took it. After all, aren’t I the  _ Herald of Andraste _ ?” Violet made it sound like sludge. “Martyrdom is sort of a trend among holy figures, right?”

Persephone made a frustrated noise. “You threw your life away! I have struggled for the freedom to  _ live _ my own life ever since you had me locked up in the Circle! And you just  _ threw yours away. _ ”

Violet pressed her lips together, looking at the corner of the tent instead of at her sister. Persephone stood next to her bed, tense and taut, back straight, hands clenched and chest heaving with deep, angry breaths. Violet knew it was her fault that Persephone’s magical powers had revealed themselves, her fault that Persephone lost control, her fault that their father had died. She knew Persephone had every right and reason to be furious with her, to hate her. But it  _ hurt _ , to have the person she cared for the most hating her with such vehemence. She told herself that she deserved it, that it was a penance, but it felt hollow.

“Why?” Persephone asked again, through clenched teeth. Violet cocked her head in confusion.  _ Why what _ ? Persephone took a deep breath through her nose, seething. “Don’t tell me. Was it because you felt like you needed to gain  _ forgiveness _ from your Void-taken Maker by martyring yourself? Or because you felt like you had nothing to live for?”

Violet refused to take the bait. “I’m sorry,” she said evenly, still not looking at her sister. It was all she said, all she would let herself say.

“That’s it?” Persephone nearly shrieked, taking a step back, tears glistening in her eyes. “That’s all you have to say? You don’t get it! Ten fucking years I was stuck in that tower--ten years that I mourned Papa, that I mourned  _ you _ because I thought I had killed you too! I hated myself, Violet, I tried to  _ kill _ myself. I believed that I killed Papa and you. I hated myself. I lost my innocence in that prison, I lost my childhood and my heart. And not one letter did I receive from anyone in the family. To tell me that I  _ hadn’t _ killed you, or that I was wanted! Not. One.” Her voice had been rising rapidly, but dropped to a quiet note at the end, the sort of quiet that overcame someone when they stopped fighting the tears.

Violet was staring in shock at her sister, who was crying freely now. Tears cascaded silently from her eyes, and her face was starting to turn red and splotchy. The Trevelyans were not pretty criers.

Persephone’s outburst seemed to have drawn the attention of whatever guards were stationed outside the tent. Two burst in, quickly followed by Cassandra, hands on their swords. Cassandra looked from Violet, sitting up on the cot and staring in confusion at her sister, to Persephone, who was shaking with silent sobs as she covered her face with her delicate hands.

“Herald,” Cassandra said in relief, waving away the guards. They left with matching clanks of armor. “Is...everything okay? Do you need anything?”

Violet shook her head. “Everything’s fine, Seeker. Some answers would be nice, but I understand that may need to wait for another time.”

Cassandra nodded, stilling eyeing Persephone warily. “I will send for the commander immediately. He wanted to know when you awoke. He...was the one who found you, Violet, after...everything.” Her voice had grown quieter. With a nod, Cassandra turned and pushed through the flap of the tent, leaving the two sisters alone again.

Violet shook her head, glancing at her crying sister. “I don’t get it. After I...healed, and found out what had happened to you and where they’d sent you, I wrote you a letter. I wrote you every week, even though I never got a reply. I always assumed they’d reached you, however, and that you were just...too angry at me to reply. I never stopped writing. I wrote to you up until I had to leave for the Conclave.” Violet licked her lips. “You never got  _ any _ of them?”

Persephone sniffed, hard, lowering her hands to reveal her tear-streaked face and puffy eyes. She shook her head. “Never. I thought you’d dismissed me, too, like the rest of the family. I saw Arthur, once, after he was knighted, you know. He recognized me. And he spat in my face and told me the family...wanted nothing to do with me.” She choked on another sob.

Violet didn’t know what to say to that. To her, Arthur was still her adoring, loving, doting big brother who didn’t approve of her fascination with mages or her  _ many _ dalliances. But he was always good to her. How could he say such things to Persephone? He’d loved her too! At least, that was what Violet  _ thought _ . She couldn’t believe that Persephone’s magic abilities changed so much about the family. How could they cast her aside so easily, so readily?

Not sure how to respond in a way that would ease Persephone’s pain but not slander Arthur, Violet settled for holding Persephone’s hand. The mage squeezed back tightly, sniffling as she hung her head, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Violet returned the pressure, and they stayed like that for several moments until the tent’s flaps flew open once more.

“Thank the Maker,” Cullen murmured upon entering and seeing Violet sitting upright. A small smile worked onto her face. “You’re awake.”

“Commander Cullen. I hear that I have you to thank for rescuing me?”

Cullen stammered and looked between the two sisters. “It was a group effort.” He noticed Persephone shift, how they held hands, and he cleared his throat, surprised at the affectionate gesture between the two Trevelyans when they were at each other’s throats only days before. When Persephone had declared Violet a lost cause, a hopeless burden. “If I’m interrupting…”

Violet glanced at Persephone, and something unspoken passed between them. “I should...check on the injured,” Persephone murmured, hurrying out of the tent with one last squeeze of Violet’s hand. Her voice was thick from crying. Violet hoped Cullen didn’t ask anything of it.

Now that they were alone, Violet felt more uneasy. She had been rather rude to Cullen before she ran off to her doom. A last-minute kiss on the cheek right before she essentially walked right into potential death was not exactly a proper apology. She grimaced at the memory--not the kiss, but the way she’d treated him before that. Maybe she really was just as childish as everyone said she was.

“How bad were my injuries?” Violet asked when the silence got too heavy.

It was Cullen’s turn to grimace. “Not...life-threatening, save for the hypothermia. Lots of gashes. You bled a lot. Sprained ankle...or maybe broken? You'll have to ask Adan. Dislocated shoulder. There was a bone sticking out of your  _ arm _ …”

“I get the picture,” Violet interrupted, feeling slightly nauseated. She looked down at her body, noticing for the first time a slew of new wounds, mostly small cuts that scabbed over or scars from healing spells. Then she lifted her left hand. “At least I've got some neat, new battle scars to show off. Better than this old thing, right?” She tried for a light, joking tone, but her smile was forced and strained. 

“I'm glad you survived,” Cullen reiterated, watching how the candlelight played off her pale hair, lank from sweat and snow. “I was terrified that I'd sent you to your death.”

“Well, it's a good thing you did, otherwise neither of us would be here to get all touchy-feely,” Violet quipped, surreptitiously scooting farther from Cullen. She wanted to move closer, truthfully, but was afraid to. She was sure she was reading too much into Cullen’s words, his expressions. She was just a soldier, right?

“I know you must be hungry,” Cullen remarked, smiling slightly. “But we need to discuss what happened. Would you like me to send for something to eat?”

Violet shrugged. “I don't think I can eat much. But yes, I probably should try  _ something _ .”

Cullen nodded and left briefly, then returned with Leliana and Josephine in tow. Suddenly, Violet felt even more tired, wishing it was still just her and Cullen. Cassandra appeared a moment later, and a blond child darted in with a tray for Violet before bowing and leaving. Cullen took the tray and placed it gently on Violet’s lap. She tried to tell herself that his hands had  _ not  _ lingered.

Violet stared into the broth in a bowl on the tray as she told the four of them about Corypheus, attempting to remember every detail and word. She was sure that  _ someone _ must have heard of him.

She didn't expect that someone to be Varric.

***

Skyhold was everything the fledgling Inquisition needed--that, and their cause and enemy: the so-called Elder One.  _ Corypheus. _ Who he--it--was, Violet had no clue. But she was determined to bring him down. 

On the other hand, the ancient and abandoned fortress was...a fixer-upper, to say the least. She was thankful to Solas for leading them to it, even if she was annoyed that he'd kept information about Corypheus from her. Apparently, Solas had some sort of magic elf orb that he'd let fall into the hands of Corypheus in the hopes that the Elder One would die in the process of opening it. 

Entire sections of the keep were in utter disrepair. Stones littered corridors, even blocking some completely. There were tattered remnants of a bygone age, torn tapestries and broken furniture. Beams and destroyed rafters were strewn everywhere. The worst was the animals that had nested there. Violet was not keen on rousting fennec dens.

But as Violet explored more and more of Skyhold, the more she fell in love with it. It was nothing like the Free Marches, nothing like Ostwick or her family's vast, sprawling estate.

And they'd made her their leader. Their Inquisitor. A week she'd been in Skyhold, helping renovate with Cullen and any able-bodied people who could be spared as Josephine secured trade routes, Leliana reorganized her spies and gathered information. Then Cassandra had pulled her aside, explained how the Inquisition needed a leader. The person who had already been leading it. And Violet refused. Before Cassandra could draw Violet up those steps to where Leliana waited expectantly, Violet panicked and nearly bolted. She would have, if Cass hadn't had grabbed her arm.

“It's okay to be nervous,” Cassandra reassured her, trying to sound soothing. It wasn't exactly working. Violet’s eyes were wide with trepidation, and she shook her head repeatedly. “You  _ can _ do this, Violet,” Cassandra said in such a confident way that Violet almost believed her. “You can do great things. The Inquisition can do great things. With you as our leader, we can all do great things."

Violet was touched by the speech, more than she cared to admit. She wasn't used to that sort of praise. Not for ten years. This time, she let Cassandra lead her up the stone stairs to where Leliana stood, holding a huge ceremonial sword. Violet let Leliana hand it to her, let her advisors--her friends-- declare her their fearless leader. Even though she knew that her load to bear in the coming months was heavier than any sword, she accepted the role as Inquisitor. No longer was she a rebellious upstart. Now she was the leader of an army; a movement; a cause worth fighting for. 

***

“First things first,” Violet declared at the War Table. It was her first time standing in the new War Room of Skyhold, which was illuminated by tall, glassless windows. “I would like forward camps set up in Crestwood, the Exalted Plains, and the Western Approach. Josephine, we should have a memorial for Haven. Oh, and Cullen. I was talking to a refugee in the Herald’s Rest--Sutherland was his name--and I told him to get some gear and join your training exercises with the new recruits. Just wanted to warn you. He seems promising.”

Violet smiled at him and Cullen nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor.”

“That's all,” Violet said. “Varric said he had someone he wanted me to meet.”

Josephine, Cullen, Leliana shared a look. The spymaster spoke, “If he brought who I  _ think _ he brought, Cassandra is going to kill him.”

***

Violet found Varric on the battlements, nursing a bottle of mead. With him was a tall man wearing warriors’ armor. He had black, windswept hair that connected to a coarse beard and mustache. He turned at Violet’s approach, and she saw his icy blue eyes rove over her body, sizing her up. She studied him unabashedly, from the armored plates of his boots to the red streak across his nose.

“Garrett Hawke,” Violet greeted. “Champion of Kirkwall. A pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Inquisitor,” Hawke replied with a crooked smile.

“Call me Violet.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” Hawke remarked.

“Flatterer,” Violet teased as Varric choked on his drink. “But something tells me you didn't come out of hiding just to flirt.”

Varric cleared his throat. “I thought he might have some friendly advice about Corypheus. He and I  _ did _ fight him, after all.” He looked to the tall man and they shared a smile, momentarily reminiscing.

Hawke leaned against the battlements, looking out at the courtyard, and glanced at Violet, who settled beside him, her hands against the rough stone. “You’ve already dropped half a mountain on the bastard. I’m sure anything I tell you pales in comparison.”

Violet sighed. “Yeah, well, he escaped. If dropping a mountain on him doesn’t work, what will? You must know something. He’ll keep on killing until he gets what he wants.” Violet held up her Marked hand and gazed at it, then gestured around her with a sweep. “And even then, he’ll keep killing.”

“If you think I can help,” Hawke said.

“Varric said you fought Corypheus before,” Violet prompted.

“Fought  _ and _ killed,” Hawke amended. “The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them.”

“Corypheus got into their heads,” Varric added. “Messed with their minds. Turned them against one another.”

“Not good,” Violet murmured, thinking of Blackwall.

Hawke shook his head. “If the Wardens have disappeared, they could’ve fallen under his control again.”

“Fucking fabulous,” Violet said in exasperation, throwing her arms up and pacing. “So Corypheus has, let’s see: the Venator, the Red Templars,  _ and _ now possibly the Grey Wardens as well. Got anymore wonderful news?”

Hawke sighed, but seemed sympathetic. “I didn’t come this far just to give you bad news, Violet. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. Her name is Winona. Last time we spoke, she was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing.”

Varric snorted, but he didn’t sound amused. “Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. Did your friend disappear with them?”

“No, actually,” Hawke said. “She told me she’d be hiding out in an old smuggler’s cave near Crestwood.”

“Timely. I’ve got scouts securing a forward camp there as we speak.” Then Violet licked her lips. “When you say Winona, do you mean--?”

“The Hero of Ferelden?” Hawke finished. “Yes. Though if you call her that to her face, she’ll likely cut your tongue out, if you’re lucky. Things didn’t go well for her in Ferelden after the Blight. She and her other Warden friend...they parted on bad terms, from what I understand. He’s king of Ferelden, now.”

Violet nodded. “I’ve heard the stories. I can’t imagine having to make that choice between what’s best for your country and what you desire. Tragically romantic, wasn’t it?” 

Varric sighed in agreement. “Heroes’ tales always are, aren’t they?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Lots of emotions. For those of you who have not liked Persephone so far, I hope this gives you some perspective on why she acted the way she did.
> 
> Kudos and comments are A++ thank youuu<3
> 
> Check out my tumblr: pansexualanarchist.tumblr.com (#send me writing prompts)


	10. A Wall, Unguarded

His legs felt weak, but he preferred to work standing up. Improved his focus.  _ Sitting _ at a desk was for bureaucrats. He was a warrior. And if he couldn’t be out there fighting with his men, then he would not sit on the job.

There was a soft knocking at his door, almost musical. He was only slightly surprised that he recognized the pattern as Violet’s. “Enter,” he called from his desk, glancing up as she approached. He’d been doing a lot of that, lately. Following her movements with his eyes, looking away when she glanced his way, pretending he hadn’t been noticing her. But he, too, had noticed the way she acted around him--she always stood near him when they were in a group, and she looked to him first at the War Table. But she’d also never personally come to his office before. They’d always sent messengers, and he assumed it was because she wanted distance between them to preserve their professional relationship. Now, the only thing between them was a desk.

“Hello,” Violet said as she walked in, arms behind her back. She looked around at the rather gloomy office, a slight wrinkle across her brow. “Has this place been properly cleaned, Cullen?”

“It’s perfectly fine for the purpose it serves,” Cullen reasoned, glancing back down at his papers and ignoring the slender column of her throat as she peered up toward his loft, and he ignored the faint scars peeking above the collar of her blouse.

“Right,” Violet drawled, not buying it. “That explains the gaping hole in your ceiling? And the dust sheets on the furniture? And the debris piled in the corners? Maker’s breath, Cullen, this place is hardly livable!”

“Did you simply come here to critique me?” Cullen asked sternly, riffling through papers he wasn’t really reading.

Violet frowned and returned to his desk. “No, I didn’t. I wanted to ask you about Garrett Hawke, actually.”

Cullen looked up, surprised. He knew the Champion was in Skyhold--everyone did, after the spectacle with Cassandra and Varric in the smithy--but he didn’t expect Violet to come to  _ him _ for counsel. Then again, she may have already visited her other companions. “What can I tell you, Inquisitor?”

“You knew him in Kirkwall, yes?” Violet asked. “You’ve said that...that wasn’t the best part of your life, but I want your opinion on Hawke. He seems...trustworthy. But after the bombshell dropped on me today--if you’ve read my report, you’ll see that Corypheus can apparently influence the minds of Grey Wardens--I’d like to have all my bases covered.”

Cullen had, of course, read her report. They were often longer than necessary, since she got distracted easily while writing and would include things only tangentially related. Her reports were funny that way, and he sincerely enjoyed reading them. She tried to make everything lighter, to ease the burdens of her advisors. He also liked her handwriting. It was a mess, honestly, all loops and slants and scratches. They’d never be able to tell if it was her writing or a forger’s, truthfully, it was so inconsistent. But it was similar to his brother Branson’s handwriting, and he found that rather comforting.

Cullen straightened, hand on the pommel of his sword. “Rest assured, Violet, Hawke is a good man. He may be troublesome--he was quite the headache in Kirkwall--but he has an impressive moral compass. He does what he believes to be right--and that may not be what is best for the Inquisition. Remember that. But you can trust him to watch your back in a fight. Just maybe not anywhere else. He...got around, in Kirkwall. He was at the Blooming Rose more often than not.”

“Blooming Rose?” Violet asked, cocking her head to the side with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Is that a cafe or something?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “B-brothel, actually.”

“Oh, I see,” Violet said, a wicked grin on her face. “Did they know you well there, too, Cullen?”

He had told himself he would not blush when they had one-on-one conversations anymore, but he found his face turning scarlet anyway. “I--no, actually, not really. I...was just the Knight-Captain. I had to visit the establishment a few times, on Templar business, to interrogate the...workers about...recruits.”

“Kinky.”

Cullen made a frustrated noise, but, truthfully, he loved that he was able to bring a smile to her face. He just wished it wasn’t so deprecating to himself. “Do you enjoy doing that?”

“Making you blush? Or doing kinky things?” Violet grinned at his expression. “The answer to both is yes.” She tried to stifle her ensuing giggle at his expression. “Oh, alright, I’m sorry, Cullen. But don’t tell me I’m the first woman to enjoy making you squirm.”

She wasn’t, actually. Many had tried along the way, but he had gotten pretty good at deflecting them. Violet was the first woman in a long time to really get a rise out of him, and he told himself it was because they were more than just acquaintances; they were friends. Nothing more than that, but it was enough that he let his guard down around her. A wall he hadn’t really let down since...well, that was hardly important. And, okay, maybe he wanted this easy camaraderie to become something  _ more _ , but he also wished that it would happen some other way, not via teasing.

“Do you need anything else, Violet?” Cullen asked, trying to hide the exasperation in his voice. And the hope that she wouldn’t leave just yet.

Violet shifted. “I suppose not. But...have you eaten yet? It’s nearly dark out, and you look exhausted.”

Cullen waved his hand dismissively. “It’s…not an issue, Inquisitor.”

“I’ll take that as a  _ no _ .” When he didn’t protest, Violet made a disapproving noise and folded her arms. “Really, Cullen? You should know better than anyone how important it is to keep up your strength, Mister Soldier Man.”

He snorted at the nickname. “I’m not hungry, Violet.”

“You still need to eat,” she insisted. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Then she was gone, jogging along the battlements. Cullen watched her go for just a moment, wrenching his gaze from her and planting it firmly on the papers on his desk. Work. Work was what he needed to focus on. Not swaying hips.

Nearly half an hour later, Violet returned, carrying a tray laden with food. Cullen balked as she set it on his desk, atop a stack of reports from Rylen and Harding that he had yet to peruse. He started to protest, but Violet just popped a strawberry into his mouth.

“Less talking,” she instructed. “More eating.”

On the platter was a roasted duck breast seasoned with thyme and rosemary, a bowl of hearty stew with plenty of vegetables, a few slices of steaming bread, and quite the assortment of fruits and sweets. Maker, it was enough to feed the entire war council.

“Violet, you really needn’t--” Cullen began, but Violet cut him off by shoving a bit of bread into his mouth, then taking a bite for herself.

“None of that, Cullen,” she said around a mouthful of food, swatting his arm. “I’m going to sit here and make sure you eat. I’ll handle the reports for now. There’s a couch against the wall--though how would you know, there’s a  _ freaking dust sheet on it _ .”

Cullen uncovered the couch and dragged it over to the desk. Violet perched on the armrest, her legs crossed, and she was reading one of the many, many papers on his desk. When he reached for a report, she swatted away his hand, not as distracted as she seemed. “I don’t think so, Mister. Eat. Don’t make me spoon-feed you, because you know I will.”

Rather than risk the wrath of Violet, Cullen settled back and picked up the fork and knife resting on the edge of the tray. He started to pick apart the poultry, cutting it into small pieces and eating it, savoring the flavor--something he hadn’t done in a long while.

“Look at you, using a fork  _ and  _ knife, like civilized folk,” Violet teased. “What’s next, a napkin?”

“The Chantry Sisters did teach us how to eat properly, table manners and etiquette and all that,” Cullen retorted, which only made Violet snort. “What about you,  _ My Lady _ ?”

Violet sniffed imperiously. “A lady never reveals her secrets, Cullen.”

“You’re insufferable,” Cullen murmured, but there was a smile in his voice.

“And childish and churlish and selfish, yes?” Violet added, making Cullen groan.

“I thought we were past that, Violet,” he said.

“Just checking,” Violet teased, tapping the top of his head with a report in her hand. “Wouldn’t want you to think I have such an awful memory, right?”

“Insufferable,” Cullen repeated, looking up at her, the way her nose scrunched when she smiled back at him, the dimple in her cheek.  _ Completely, totally, one-hundred percent insufferable _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little chapter, just a bit more development between these two sweethearts. So I'll see if I can update again sooner rather than later!
> 
> Also I'm sorry this is so much more slowburn than I intended. Oh well, it's coming soon, I promise. We're, like, halfway there.
> 
> I also started writing an Avvar fic ft. Cullen and Violet called _Barbarians_ if you're interested in that! I'll try not to let it consume my life and distract me from this here endeavor : >
> 
> Let me know what you think! I love comments and kudos! My tumblr is pansexualanarchist. Also shout out to me beta, radiowavemisfit here, you the real MVP


	11. Of Tools and Mages

Violet sat at the desk in her room, quill motionless in her left hand above a clean sheet of parchment. A drop of deep, black ink fell from the tip of the quill to the paper, where it slowly soaked into it. Violet glared at it and made a frustrated noise, throwing the quill down and leaning back in her chair, pressing her hands to her eyes, the edge of her ring biting into her brow bone.

There was a knock at the door, and Violet was going to shout for whoever it was to leave her be, but the door opened and she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. That was odd. The servants and scouts never entered without her invitation. She turned in her chair angrily, but her fury dissipated when she saw her sister cresting the staircase, clove cigarette in her mouth. Violet smiled hesitantly. Over the past few weeks since discovering Skyhold, Violet had began to rekindle the relationship between herself and her sister. They’d been very close as children, and Violet missed that closeness. She’d been certain that Persephone would be ready and willing to watch her burn at the stake, but now she was certain of the opposite. They were sisters again.

“Nice room,” Persephone said appreciatively, blowing out a string of smoke as she held her cigarette. Violet wasn’t sure when Persephone had picked up the habit, and she didn’t think she wanted to know. “Better than the estate’s rooms, right?”

Violet grinned. “Oh, definitely! It’s huge. I feel like a queen in here. And the view is amazing!”

Persephone grinned. “Oh, really? A bird’s eye view of the training grounds, hm? Keeping an eye on your commander’s drills with the trainees?”

Violet felt her face heat up, but she fought it down. “I have no idea what you mean,” Violet grumbled, turning away from her sister.

Persephone laughed. “Oh, come on! We all see how you look at him. You look like a lovesick schoolgirl. It’s rather adorable. I’d never seen you like that before. You should take moments of happiness where you can.”

Violet bristled. “Well, no matter how I feel or what other people think they see or think I feel, it’s entirely inappropriate. We’re colleagues. Nothing more. Besides, he’s nearly ten years older than me."

Persephone rolled her eyes, taking a drag, but didn’t pursue the topic. A breeze came through the open doors leading to the balcony, rustling Persephone’s long, thick, dark auburn hair. The mage leaned on Violet’s desk, facing her sister, and asked, “When did you get back?”

Violet glanced at the rising sun, bloody red in the pale sky. She sighed tiredly. “Oh, four hours? Maybe? Dorian was staying the night to catch up with his father, so I went on ahead. I got a raven from Leliana saying that a forward camp has been established in Crestwood, so I rode through the night.” Violet stifled a yawn as she stretched.

Persephone nodded. “I remember you used to stay up all night with me to watch the sunrise. I’d always fall asleep, my head in your lap, but you’d wake me just before dawn so I could see the sunrise, too. Weren’t you exhausted? Didn’t you ever get tired of humoring your kid sister?”

Violet smiled softly. “Yes, and no. It was worth it. You loved the sunrises so much. If I sacrificed sleep once a week for you, so be it. There are worse prices to pay for someone else to be happy. You weren’t asking me to put on a ruffly dress and dance the remigold with the king.”

Persephone snorted, twirling her cigarette. “You were always an awful dancer.” She peered at the parchment on Violet’s desk. “What’s that? A letter? Seems like you’re making little headway.”

Violet sighed. “I wanted to write the family, to let them know I’m alive.”

She could see the moment Persephone stiffened and went on the defensive. “Why?” was all she asked, though.

“They sent me to the Conclave as a representative of the Trevelyan family,” Violet told her, leaning her elbows on the desk. “They must know I’ve taken the title of Inquisitor, but I have yet to write to them personally. It’s been weeks. They must be worried. If...if you like, Persephone, I can let them know you’re here, too, safe and sound. Or I could...not. Whichever you prefer.”

There was silence for a moment. Then Persephone shook her head. “No. Let them know I’m here. But that’s it. I want nothing more to do with those... _ people _ .”

Violet nodded. “Why don’t you help me write the letter? It’s...harder than I thought.”

Persephone grabbed a chair and pulled it beside Violet. “Shall we?”

***

Violet brought the sealed letter with her to the war meeting that morning. It sat in her breast pocket like a weight in her heart. On the one hand, she loved her family dearly; after all, she had no real reason to hate them. On the other, however, she resented them. For disowning Persephone, for  _ lying _ to her, for ostensibly not sending her letters to Persephone. And deep down, she realized that her mother blamed her, Violet, for Papa’s death. It was hard to see sometimes, but when her mother was in a mood, it was all too clear.

Violet’s advisors were already in the War Room, chatting quietly as Violet entered, a few minutes late, as usual. Josephine cleared her throat and the other two quieted down. Cassandra was noticeably absent; she’d left her position as official advisor.

Josephine began discussing the invitation to Skyhold of some Marquis she’d been corresponding with. According to the ambassador, he had impressive coffers and a taste for blonds. Violet grimaced, but joked, “Just keep him away from the commander, then.”

Cullen sputtered as the other two women chuckled. “I beg your pardon?”

Violet grinned and waggled her dark eyebrows suggestively at him. She ignored the re-emerging thoughts of what Persephone had said about Violet and the commander. “I’m just looking out for you, Commander.”

Cullen shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks. “Right. Well, then. Inquisitor. Is there anything else to discuss?”

Violet nodded to him. “Yes. I’m interested in this arcanist who’s contacted us. If she wishes to join the Inquisition, then I’m happy to have her. Could you see to her safe arrival and that she has all the supplies she needs?”

“Of course,” Cullen responded, inclining his head.

Then Violet turned to Leliana. “Any word from your scouts?”

“We’ve established camps in Crestwood and the Exalted Plains, as you’ve requested,” the spymaster reported dutifully. “The party heading to the Western Approach was waylaid by bandits, but sustained no casualties. They should send word within the week.”

“Thank you, Leliana,” Violet said, absently fiddling with a winged marker on the board. “I plan to leave for Crestwood tomorrow at dawn to meet Hawke’s Grey Warden contact. If possible, I’ll take Persephone, Cass, and Hawke, of course. I want to keep a small party for this mission.”

“Anything else, Inquisitor?” Josephine prompted, jotting a note down on her clipboard.

“That is all,” Violet replied, setting down the marker. “Meeting adjourned?”

The advisors nodded and they all left together. Violet walked with Cullen to the training grounds in the courtyard, looking for a courier to take her letter. She found one and diverted to deliver the parcel, and Cullen followed her, looking uneasy.

“Something on your mind, Cullen?” Violet asked as she handed her letter to the courier with strict instructions.

“Yes, actually, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied. Violet gave him a look. “Er--I mean, Violet. You recall my report on Corypheus’s general, Samson, a former Templar?”

“I do,” Violet said, nodding. “Therinfal Redoubt, red lyrium--general bad stuff?”

Cullen frowned at her abridged summary. “It’s a bit more serious than that. But yes, general bad stuff. Samson and I were friends, when I first arrived in Kirkwall. Roommates. Then Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled Samson for ‘erratic behavior’. He ended up begging on the streets. He was addicted to lyrium, and spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers.”

Violet frowned. “Why are you telling me this, Cullen? Not that I mind, but...if you’re telling me something important, you sort of need to actually say it.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but Cassandra came striding toward them then, and Cullen snapped his mouth shut. He looked...nervous, suddenly. Violet raised an eyebrow but decided not to press him.

“Have you been having the kitchen staff bring me dinner every night?” he asked suddenly. Violet got the impression that it was not the question he'd intended to ask.

“You found me out,” Violet said, lifting her hands, but she was smirking. “You need to take care of yourself, Cullen.”

“When you return from your mission in Crestwood, I’d like to talk to you about something,” he said in a rush.

“Ooh, ominous,” Violet teased. “I’ll have time later today, if you’d like to talk…”

Cullen looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I…” He cleared his throat. Violet frowned worriedly at his sudden change in demeanor. He was her--their--commander, a sure and confident warrior. He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be...apprehensive like this. But he was human after all.

“Hey,” Violet said gently, touching his arm. His armor was cool under her fingers, and she wished suddenly that it wasn’t there. She swallowed back those thoughts and emotions. “I can wait. Whenever you’re ready, Cullen.”

She smiled at him and the way he seemed to relax a bit as the topic was dropped. She said nothing to Cullen as Cassandra reached them. “Cass, just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Oh, Inquisitor, I was intending to speak with the commander--” Cassandra began.

“But I have...pressing things to discuss with you,” Violet bluffed. “About our latest expedition. Missions and all that. Come, now, Cass.”

She took the older woman’s elbow and led her away, then cast a wink over her shoulder at Cullen, mouthing,  _ You’re welcome _ . He smiled slightly in response, and Violet couldn’t help the grin that graced her lips.

***

Crestwood was easily one of the most miserable places she’d ever visited. Well, except for the Fallow Mire, but at least the Mire wasn’t an actual civilized village. It had been one, long ago, before some terrible, vile disease wiped out everyone who lived there. Save for demonic corpses, demons, and the Avvar barbarians who had shown a worrying interest in the Inquisitor, Violet didn’t think anyone lived there anymore.

Crestwood, however, had apparently been a thriving village until they took in refugees from the Blight ten years previous, and darkspawn flooded the lower part of the village, killing hundreds of the refugees.

On top of that, the town was stormy, since it was near the Storm Coast, or maybe because of the  _ fucking Rift _ in the lake. Violet was drenched to the bone shortly after dismounting her horse at the forward camp. Scout Harding gave her a quick rundown of the area, warning her about the Rift in the lake.

Violet, Persephone, Cassandra, and Hawke passed through the melancholy little village, gathering what information they could. They met Grey Wardens along the way, who seemed very reserved. The people in the village seemed morose and hopeless. She promised she’d help them, but her priority was to find the Grey Warden. Then she’d have time to close the Rift in the lake and close the dam.

They trudged through the mud and wind and rain to a secluded cave. Violet entered first, daggers at the ready, followed by Hawke, Persephone and Cass taking up the rear. Violet looked around at the deep cavern they entered, littered with obvious signs of life--an empty bedroll, a crate of food items, a pile of firewood that was charred from a recent fire. She continued onward, looking at the dry cave walls, but froze when a blade was pressed to her throat.

“Stand down, Winona,” Hawke intercepted, stepping forward. “She’s with me.”

Violet turned to the woman who had seemed to appear from nowhere, melting out of the very shadows. She had a long tangle of thick, auburn hair and brown eyes that were bright. She was taller than Violet, which was no wild feat, and her skin was pale from lack of sun. There were purplish bruises under her large eyes. She was slow to lower her dagger, but did so, her eyes flitting to the other intruders. As she stepped back, her blue mage armor, which marked her as a member of the Grey Wardens, glinted in the weak light from a nearby lantern.

Persephone and Cassandra stood in front of Violet protectively, but Violet shrugged between them. “You’re the Grey Warden, right?” Violet asked. “The Hero of Ferelden.”

The woman smiled tiredly. “Yes. I was helping to rebuild the Wardens in Ferelden. I left when Warden-Commander Clarel...started suggesting  _ crazy _ things. Well, I should go back a bit. Not so long ago, every Warden in Orlais started hearing the Calling. It’s...a way that we know our time is near, when the taint consumes us.”

Violet shook her head in disbelief. “So every Warden thinks they’re going to die?” Winona nodded. Violet looked at Cassandra. “What about Blackwall? He’s not mentioned it.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I do not know. We’ll have to talk to him.”

Violet nodded. “So what crazy plan does this Clarel have?”

“She proposes to head into the Deep Roads to slaughter the remaining Old Gods so that they can no longer be corrupted, thus preventing future Blights,” Winona answered. “And in order to do so, she wants us to bind ourselves to demons, since they are a tireless army.”

Violet gaped at Winona. “That’s--insane!”

Winona nodded grimly. “I voiced my concern, and was met with resistance. I was forced to leave or face the consequences.” She smiled wanly, a bitter look on her face.

Hawke shook his head. “This is worse than I thought.”

“This cannot be allowed to continue,” Cassandra interjected.

Winona nodded. “I agree, Seeker. They’re performing a ritual at a shrine in the Western Approach.”

“Oh! My scouts are headed there now to set up a forward camp.”

“Then let’s waste no time,” Winona said. Hawke nodded. “We should leave immediately.”

“I’ll need to send a raven to my spymaster,” Violet said. “We have an extra horse for you, Warden.”

“Let’s move out,” Hawke said.

***

_ Dearest Team, _

_ We met Hawke’s Warden friend without incident. She’s the Hero of Ferelden. She says there’s an emergency regarding the Wardens in the Western Approach. I’ll explain when I return. _

_ Yours Truly, Violet _

***

Violet and Persephone couldn’t keep their eyes off the Hero. They’d grown up on stories of her saving Ferelden nearly single-handedly from the Blight. They’d expected her to be taller, honestly. And not quite as harried.

Riding and camping together, Violet saw how Winona blinked rapidly and frequently, constantly looking around nervously. Her pale skin seemed unnaturally so, as if she had spent much time in the sun and was suddenly cut off from it. Which she was, being cooped up in a cave for weeks. She fidgeted a lot, too, constantly doing  _ something _ . She was also the first one awake every morning, and based off the dark circles under her eyes, she was the last asleep every night.

“Are you okay?” Violet asked Winona one day when they stopped for a short break.

Winona blinked at Violet in surprise. “Yeah, fine. Just...it’s the Calling, is all. It manifests in nightmares.”

Violet nodded sympathetically. After the incident with Persephone ten years previous, Violet had had awful nightmares, full of fire and burning flesh. Then they’d gotten less frequent as she got older. After falling out of the Fade, though, they’d returned with a vengeance, along with new ones. Someone--she wasn’t sure who, but she suspected Persephone--had commissioned Adan for sleeping draughts, which were left on Violet’s bedside table every night.

“Do you have a potion to help?” Violet asked as she brushed down her Fereldan Forder, thinking of the flasks in her saddlebags.

Winona shook her head. “They don’t work, believe me, I’ve tried. But let’s talk about something else, shall we?”

“Alright,” Violet agreed readily. “What do you want to know?”

Winona smiled, genuinely this time. “So. Inquisitor, huh? I know what it’s like to have a heavy burden on your shoulders at such a young age. But...I hear that Cullen Rutherford and Sister Leliana work with you?”

Violet smiled back at her. “They do. Do you know them well? I’ve heard that Leliana travelled with you, but she’s a master of secrets, truthfully.”

Winona nodded, looking slightly morose. “Yes. I’ve heard that she’s...changed much. We’ve tried to keep in contact, but when you’re constantly moving around, it’s hard to write. Cullen and I, however, go back to Kinloch. The Ferelden Circle.” Her smile was bright, but her eyes were sad as she talked about him. “He was recently knighted, Kinloch was his first assignment. He was very sweet, very eager to please his superiors. He was kind to the mages. He took every chance to talk to me; it was rather obvious he had a crush on me.  _ Everyone _ teased me about it! He used to be very nervous every time we interacted, but he got over it eventually, thankfully. But...then I left to join the Wardens. Is his hair still crazy curly?”

Violet forced a smile, ignoring the squirming in her gut at how Winona talked about Cullen. Winona had no doubt been in love with Cullen at one point. And Cullen had been in love with her as well.  _ Was she still in love, _ Violet wondered. Was  _ he _ still in love? “Er--no, he’s got some sort of hair oil or paste to tame them. They’re all neat waves now. I wonder what he’d look like with wild curls.”

Winona snorted. “I never would’ve pinned him as a man who cared for his looks so much! Would you mind if I returned to Skyhold with you after this? I’d like to catch up with Cullen and Leliana.”

Violet swallowed back the voice in her head that wanted to say no. She plastered a smile on her face. “Of course.”

“We should be there by sundown,” Hawke said, approaching them. He stood beside Violet. “Are we drawing lots for tent-mates again?” He grinned at Violet’s eye-roll.

There were five of them, and two small tents that could barely squeeze in two people. The fifth person would take first watch and then sleep in the tent of the person who took second watch. They’d been drawing lots to decide who would sleep in which tent, and who would take the first watch.

“You only like it because you shared with Persephone last night,” Violet pointed out, fighting the urge to bristle like an overprotective big sister.

Hawke laughed. “She set up wards around her bedroll and threatened to singe my beard off if I went anywhere near her.”

“Good,” Violet said at the same time Persephone appeared and said, “Damn right I did.”

“Where’s Cass?” Violet asked, looking around.

“Scouting ahead,” Hawke said. “She should be back soon.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the Seeker reappeared. She looked grim, and there was a fine coating of sand on her armor, as there was on all of theirs. Violet couldn’t blame her. Why would anyone be happy to be in the desert?

“What’d you find?” Violet asked.

“Sand,” Cassandra remarked. “More sand.”

Violet nodded. “Of course. Well, let’s pick lots for sleeping arrangements for later. May the odds be in your favor.”

***

Violet grumbled as they arrived in the forward camp just as the sun was setting. Violet was stuck with Hawke, and she didn’t trust his hands, not in such close quarters.

The heat was still madly oppressive, despite the lowering sun and darkening sky. Violet  _ was _ looking forward to sleeping in the shelter of a tent, even if it was with Hawke.

They set up their tents and joined in the scouts’ modest meal of roasted hare and whatever vegetables grew in the Void-taken desert.  _ And _ , there was no bathing water! Violet shuddered. She hadn’t bathed in two weeks, and she dreaded how she smelled.

Violet was the first to retire for the night, changing into a long tunic before Hawke got there. She crawled into her bedroll and curled into a ball. Hawke entered nearly an hour later, reeking of ale, but Violet was still awake. He glanced at her, staring at the canvas of the tent wall.

“You know, Violet, you could put out the light, if you like,” Hawke said as he unbuckled his armor and stacked it carefully in the corner. He started to take his tunic and trousers off, grinning at Violet when she didn't shyly look away.

“Like what you see?” Hawke joked, tossing his sock at Violet.

“It's not a bad view,” Violet admitted, sitting up. “Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?”

Hawke smiled wryly at her. “I did. His name is Fenris.”

Violet nodded and fell back into her bedroll as Hawke set his own out. “Did you love him?”

Hawke shrugged thoughtfully. “Yes. I did. I suppose I still do. We had to go our separate ways after the debacle in Kirkwall. Why? Do you need a distraction?”

Violet rolled over with a disgusted noise. Truthfully, it wasn’t a bad idea. But Violet also did not want to complicate her life further. “Goodnight, Hawke.”

***

The sweltering heat did not relent as Winona led the way to an ancient ruin further in the desert. The hot, hot sun beat down on their backs and their heads. Violet was sure she’d be left with an awful sunburn; she always did burn too easily in the sun. She cursed the sun, the sand that managed to get into every crevice and nook and cranny of clothes and body, and the Maker-awful creatures that lived in the desert.

The ruin glimmered like a mirage, a blob on the horizon. Winona squinted and nodded, mostly to herself. She turned to the others with her.

“I’ve studied blueprints of this tower,” Winona told them. “Simple layout. Let’s hurry; I fear we may already be too late.”

They continued onward, relying on Winona’s memory and Grey Warden knowledge. Violet didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about the woman that made you feel like you could trust her. Violet couldn’t help the feeling of insecurity that had started brooding in her gut. Winona was a leader, a confident woman of stature. Mature. Violet though that Winona would be...a much better Inquisitor, without a doubt.

Persephone walked beside Violet. “Everything okay?” she asked casually. But Violet felt the undercurrent of concern in her voice and remembered how Persephone always had been able to read her like a book when they were kids--apparently,  _ that _ hadn’t changed.

Violet shrugged. “As okay as things can be, considering the situation.”

“We’ll be done before you know it,” Persephone assured her. “And we’ll be back in Skyhold and rid of this awful sand. We’ll have nice, hot baths and nice, hot meals and sleep in nice, hot beds. And you’ll be able to watch a nice, hot commander run his drills,” she added in an undertone.

Violet blushed, but her face was already so red that she doubted it was even noticeable. She sighed and clenched her hands to keep from smacking her sister. “Persephone.”

“I’m just teasing,” Persephone defended, smirking, looking rather smug. “Making up for lost time. I missed nearly _ all _ of your teenage years! Imagine all the crushes I missed out on teasing you about!”

Violet snorted. “Five other siblings to make up for  _ that _ .” Then she groaned, adding, “Neeley and Arthur were so overprotective! Every time a male so much as looked at me for a beat too long, they  _ freaked out _ . So, no, you didn’t miss out on much. They made sure I never had anything meaningful. But, well, that’s not really fair to them. A lot of it was my fault, too. I suppose...I pushed a lot of people away.”

Persephone was quiet, her smile fading somewhat. “Do...you still have...the scars?”

Violet nodded and looked down at the sand as they walked a bit behind the others, the temple drawing closer--Maker, the desert landscape made everything seem closer than it truly was. “Yes. And I suppose that they...Neeley and Arthur, that is...that, well, they must’ve been nervous that some guy would use me and toss me away, because who wants a girl with deforming scars? And Neeley and Arthur were scared that I would get my heartbroken.” Violet cleared her throat, tasting the grit of sand. “But I got around them by being a cold-hearted bitch who did the using. Also by sleeping with girls.”

Persephone snorted. “They never caught on?”

“Never,” Violet replied with a grin. “There were people that...left because of my scars, of course. It was inevitable. I mean, I’ve rarely shared a bed through the night with someone who I...dallied with. So, as I said: cold-hearted bitch syndrome set in.” She paused. “You might not like to hear this of your big sister, but, well, I’d had enough of heartbreak and waking up in an empty bed that had had another person in it when I fell asleep. Sex made me feel good, so I decided that that was all I wanted. So that’s all I got.”

Persephone looked...surprised, but also rather sad. “No...love? Romance? Nothing?”

Violet sighed, eyeing the tower growing larger with every step. “No. If I let myself become attached to them, it would hurt when they left--because they  _ always _ left, in the end. It was easier with no strings attached, no promises.” Violet took a steadying breath. It was the first time she’d ever talked about her rather pathetic love life, her failed sex life. But it felt good to confide in someone, especially Persephone.

Persephone touched Violet’s arm briefly. “The Circle was much the same, Vi.” They continued to walk in silence until they reached the ruin.

“Shit,” Winona said when they reached the entrance to the long, open-air temple. “I fear they’ve already started.”

“Blood magic, I’d wager,” Hawke remarked. “You can smell it. Or see the bodies. You take point, and I’ll guard your backs.”

Violet nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

She followed Winona in, Cass and Persephone following, Hawke bringing up the rear. They walked across the bridge and up a steep flight of stairs, and Hawke was right: Violet could smell the iron tang of blood in the dry desert air. On the main platform, the first thing Violet noticed was the open Rift, glowing and spitting angrily. A group of people in Grey Warden blue were gathered around it, most standing obediently to the sides like toy soldiers in a line. Violet was horrified to see... _ demons _ beside some of them, just looming contentedly.

In the middle were two Wardens, sizing each other up as if to fight. Above them, up a short flight of steps, was a greasy-looking man wearing fine-looking clothing. He said in a whiny voice, “Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear!”

One of the Wardens piped up. “This is wrong!”

The greasy man standing before them interjected, sounding rather bored, “Remember your oath: In war, victory; in peace, vigilance; in death…”

Another Warden came up behind the one protesting and knifed him, a clean shot into the ribcage. Violet watched, horrified, as brother killed brother without a second thought.

“Sacrifice,” the greasy man finished, smoothing out his beard and mustache with his hand. Then a rage demon exploded from the Rift, roaring, and the man just nodded. “Good. Now bind it, just as I showed you.”

The Warden lifted his hand, and Violet saw green light around his hand as he directed it toward the demon. The man atop the stairs lifted his hand, and a red light sparked around it. A mage. Then the demon buckled and bent, before straightening and following the Grey Warden to the side. Even from the distance, Violet could see the poor man’s eyes glow red--but what did it mean?

Violet continued along the platform, fury boiling in her veins--but it didn’t match the rage vibrating off of Winona. The mage noticed her and bowed pompously. “Inquisitor! What an unexpected pleasure. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

Winona stormed in front of Violet. “You...you are no Warden.”

Erimond shook his head. “But  _ you _ are. The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how  _ that _ goes?”

“You want to try me, ‘Vint?” Violet challenged. “I already dropped a mountain on your leader. Want to see what I can do to you?” Then she turned to the Grey Wardens. “Don’t listen to him! He serves an ancient Tevinter magister who wants to unleash a Blight.”

Erimond pouted. “That’s a very serious accusation. Let’s see what the Wardens think. Wardens! Hands  _ up _ !” Violet was shocked when they obeyed without hesitation, mimicking Erimond’s hand motions. “Hands down.”

“Corypheus has taken their minds,” Winona snarled.

“They did this to themselves,” Erimond said. “The Calling had them terrified. They looked  _ everywhere _ for help. Even Tevinter. And since it was my  _ master _ who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan… Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake.”

“Oh, I was wondering when the demon army would show up,” Violet replied, staring daggers at the mage. 

Erimond was obviously unnerved by that. “You...knew about that, did you? Well, then, here you are.” He straightened. “Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect: they are now my master’s slaves. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

“Why kill the Old Gods?” Violet asked.

Winona answered for her. “Kill the Old Gods before they can be corrupted, which means they can’t become archdemons, which means no Blight. So what do you plan to do when an actual Blight strikes, and you have no Grey Wardens left to stop it?”

Erimond sneered. “The Blight is not unstoppable, nor uncontrollable--for my master. It is simply a tool.”

“Someone’s certainly a tool,” Violet muttered under her breath.

“And we Venatori will be kings of this world, while our master rules in the Black City,” Erimond continued, greed glimmering in his beady eyes.

“Permission to engage, Inquisitor?” Winona asked, eyes blazing with hatred. “I’m only asking because this is your mission.”

Violet nodded. “You have a chance to release the Wardens from the binding and to surrender, ‘Vint. I won’t ask twice.”

“No, you  _ won’t _ ,” Erimond countered, then threw his arm out. A red light burst from his palm, and Violet screamed as her mark glared and spat painfully. She fell to her knees, clutching her hand as arcs of pain lanced up her arm and through her body. Maker’s breath, it’d never been  _ that _ bad before. Now she could barely breathe.

“The Elder One showed me how to deal with you,” Erimond gloated. “In the event that you were foolish enough to interfere again. That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He’s been forced to find other ways to access the Fade. When I bring him your head, his gratitude will be--ahh!”

Violet forced herself to her feet as she squeezed her hand into a fist, forcing her own power from the mark through the connection Erimond had forged between them. He flew backwards, tumbling to a stop against the wall. As the dust from the miniature magical explosion cleared, Violet advanced on him, drawing her dagger.

“Kill them!” Erimond ordered, limping away.

“You bastard!” Winona screamed, pulling her staff from her back. Violet pretended not to see the tears in her eyes as the Hero of Ferelden cut down her brothers and sisters and their demons.

The fight was quick. Violet only sported a slight burn on her chin from a rage demon, but other than that, the party was mostly fine.

“We must return to Skyhold immediately,” Winona said. “If there’s going to be a mass ritual for the rest of the Grey Wardens--well, I assume it’ll take time for them to all arrive here. That means  _ we  _ have time. But we must make haste, Inquisitor.”

Violet nodded. “Let’s head back to camp, restock, and figure things out from there.”

They hurried to the forward camp, where Violet chugged a waterskin and filled her belt with grenades and health potions. She gathered the few things she’d brought that she couldn’t leave and packed the saddlebags of her Fereldan Forder, the fastest horse with them. She twisted her father’s ring nervously as she waited for Winona to finish.

When the Warden was finished, Violet turned to address the group, speaking in her best Inquisitor voice. “Winona and I will ride on ahead, as fast as we can. Just the two of us, we should reach Skyhold faster than if we all went together.”

The others nodded. Violet approached Hawke and Cassandra and lowered her voice. “Keep an eye on Persephone, or so help me, Maker, I’ll end both of you.”

Hawke laughed. “Relax, Inquisitor. I won’t let her out of my sight.”

“Maker’s speed, Violet,” Cassandra said, squeezing Violet’s shoulder.

Violet nodded and climbed up on her mare. Winona was already saddled and waiting. With another nod, the two women were off, racing to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Winona Amell, my favorite little Warden. (There's a retelling of Origins coming starring Winona).
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	12. Checkmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in posting!! I promise I'm not abandoning this project, I've just had a lot of shit going on the past couple of weeks. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Violet was exhausted by the time they rode through the gates of Skyhold, a guard ringing the bell to announce the Inquisitor’s arrival. She slid off her horse and into a stable boy’s arms, legs like jelly. Winona took Violet into her own arms and handed the horse’s reins to the stable boy.

The advisors appeared a moment later. “Where are your companions?” Josephine asked, a tinge of worry to her voice. “Who is this woman?”

“Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Winona Amell,” Leliana answered, because of course she knew. “The Hero of Ferelden.”

Winona’s head snapped up at Leliana’s voice. The mage grinned when she saw the spymaster. “Leliana! It’s been too long.”

Violet was surprised to see a small smile on Leliana’s face. “It has been, Winona.” Then she turned to the other advisors. “This is our ambassador, Josephine Montilyet. And you remember Cullen, of course, our commander.”

“Commander of the Inquisition now, huh?” Winona asked, beaming.

Violet struggled to stand on her own, frowning slightly. “We can catch up later. The others are on their way back from the Western Approach. We’ve found out some rather...disturbing and sensitive information. Couldn’t risk a messenger or a crow.”

“Let’s bring this to the War Room,” Cullen said, glancing at Winona. Violet bristled, even though she didn’t  _ want _ to, and led the way up the steps to the upper courtyard and into the main hall. They headed through Josephine’s comfortable office and into the meeting room, the heavy doors closing behind them.

Violet and Winona stood on one side, while Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana stood on the other side, across from them.

“Corypheus is raising a demon army by having the Wardens bind demons to themselves, thus binding themselves to Corypheus,” Violet said, giving the abridged version of events. They could read her report later, if she got around to writing it.

There was a beat of shocked silence. Then everyone started talking over one another. Violet bit her lip and looked down at the table, her back aching and stinging from riding so hard. And they argued and complained.

When they’d quieted down, Violet continued. “A Tevinter magister, a servant of Corypheus and a member of the Venatori, has...infiltrated their ranks. They’re apparently all traveling to Adamant Fortress in the Western Approach for some sort of ritual. I need you to find out what you can about it. Cullen, I need you to start prepping the troops; are they ready for a real battle?”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll make sure of it, Inquisitor.”

“Good. Leliana, Josephine, we’ll need plenty of supplies. Any strings you can pull, pull them. I will work on a full report after the meeting, and I want regular updates delivered to my quarters. Oh! Speaking of, Josie, can you prepare quarters for Winona?”

The three pillars of the Inquisition nodded.

“Right. Well, if you need me, I’ll be in my room.” Violet nodded, then headed out of the War Room. As she headed across the hall, a courier approached her. He handed her a sealed letter.

“This arrived yesterday, Your Worship,” he said with a bow before leaving. Violet nodded and hurried up the steps to her room, the letter clenched in her hands. The unicorn crest in the wax seal pressed into her palm, and she knew who it was from.

She sighed at the pile of work on her desk that had piled up in her absence. She tossed the letter from the courier onto the desk and set about organizing the reports into a stack, which she placed in the corner of the desk. She opened a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of paper and an inkwell with a quill and began writing an accounting of her mission, from Crestwood to the Western Approach.

By the time she finished writing, her wrist ached. Violet rang for a messenger to take her report to Leliana. She sat back for a minute before diving back into her work, feeling like Cullen. She read through missives and reports, signing off on a few, before reaching the letter from the courier. From her family. She paused, then set it aside, nerves making her postpone opening it.

The advisors flitted in and out of her chambers all day. Mostly good news and reports, but there was a lot that they couldn’t get done yet--it just required time. They were waiting on replies and supplies from nobles and merchants, reports from scouts in the area.

Violet was exhausted, but forced herself to check in on her companions. She headed to Solas’s study, informing him of the situation if he hadn’t heard already. He seemed nervous, but distracted, like there was something on his mind. Typically, Violet  _ would _ ask, but she didn’t really care at the moment. Demon army.

Violet stopped by Cullen’s office. He was addressing a group of soldiers, barking orders. Violet hesitated by the door, watching him, debating whether or not she should leave before he noticed her. She had started to realize that the tumultuous emotions in her head whenever she was around him were...well, “love” was not the right word. But she did care for him, which wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar concept--but she was out of practice.

She watched and told herself that it was okay to have these feelings. Natural. But she knew Cullen would never reciprocate her emotions--he was too professional for a dalliance with someone he worked with. And Violet didn’t  _ want _ a fling, she realized with a start. For the first time since she was a teenager, she wanted more. And that terrified her.

The soldiers drifted away one by one as Cullen dismissed them. Once they were all gone, Violet approached his desk warily. He glanced up at her as she drew closer, her nerves a jumbled mess. Maker, she really did hate herself sometimes.

“Violet,” Cullen greeted. “How can I help you?”

Violet swallowed back all the tumbling thoughts in her head, stowing them away. “Before I left for Crestwood, you said you had something to tell me. Something that seemed...really important?”

Cullen straightened, but looked almost nervous. Then he looked back down at the desk between them. “Right. You know that lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer--some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here. But I...no longer take it.”

Violet looked at him a moment. “You...stopped?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

His voice was so flat, so emotionless. She appreciated him sharing this with her--withdrawal from any drug was not easy. It churned Violet’s stomach to know that her brother was taking lyrium in order to be a Templar. But that was  _ his _ choice, right? And she looked at Cullen, and she realized she was terrified--what would the withdrawal do to Cullen? Would he go mad? Die?

Violet swallowed and took a step forward. “Cullen. If this can kill you…”

“It hasn’t yet,” he replied, his voice stronger than before. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t...I will not be bound to the Order--or that life--any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” Finally, he stood tall and looked Violet in the eye. “But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I’ve asked Cassandra to...watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“Are you in pain?” Violet asked after a moment, stepping closer to him.

“I can endure it,” he responded stoically, ever the soldier.

Violet touched Cullen’s arm, and the tension seemed to melt from him. “Cullen. If this is what you want, then I respect that and I support you. I can’t make you take it, but I also can’t make you stay away from it. Whatever you choose, I’m here for you.”

“You could order me to take it,” Cullen murmured, turning away.

Violet stepped in front of him, and reached up to cup his cheek with one hand, turning him to face her fully. She met his eyes, green on tawny, and stroked her thumb over his cheekbone. “Cullen, hey. Listen to me. I’ll never make you do something you don’t want to. Even as Inquisitor. You’re not just an advisor or the commander. You’re...my friend. Getting to know you over the past few months has been...interesting.” Her heart soared when he smiled at that. “You, as a person, are very dear to me. Everyone is.”

Violet made to move away, but Cullen grabbed her wrist and pressed into her touch. The stubble on his cheeks was rough under her fingers. She froze, and wanted nothing more than to shove Cullen against the wall and kiss him until she couldn’t see straight. But she was still so frightened that she was  _ wrong _ about how Cullen felt for her, and she didn’t think she could handle heartbreak. Again.

Cullen touched the thick iron ring encircling Violet’s middle finger. “You always wear this ring. Why?”

“It was my father’s ring,” Violet replied in a near-whisper. “When he...died, this was the only thing left.” She looked back up at Cullen. She saw a question in his eyes and she sighed. “If you want to ask something, then you can. I don’t bite. Hard.”

Cullen chuckled, his cheeks touched by a slight flush, which was what Violet had been aiming for, but then he sobered up. “What do you mean when you say, ‘the only thing left’?”

Violet grimaced. She knew she said he could ask anything, but she didn’t want to talk to  _ anyone _ about the circumstances of her father’s death. She looked away and Cullen let go of her hand, and, Maker, she missed his touch. She let her hand fall to her side, then sat on the desk and stared at her feet.

“Abridged or unabridged version?” Violet asked, trying to lighten the mood, rather ineffectively.

“Unabridged,” Cullen decided. “If you’re okay with that.”

“Damn. Oh well. Ten years ago, just before the Blight broke out, my father was planning on going on a business trip. He was travelling to...Starkhaven, maybe? I don’t remember where. Maybe Orlais...But, well, that’s not really important.

“I desperately wanted to go with him; Persephone, too. I was very close with my father. He bought me my first set of daggers, and personally trained me. Anyway, when Persephone and I asked if we could go with him, he said no. Rather adamantly, I must admit, which only made us more curious. What was so important? Was he transporting our family’s weight in gold and jewels? Or maybe something illegal? So my sister and I stowed away in one of the luggage caravans in the entourage.

“On the way, the caravan was ambushed by bandits.”

She took a deep breath before continuing, and was surprised when she felt tears rolling down her face. “Oh, tits,” she cursed, rubbing at her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to--”

Cullen reached out hesitantly and started to rub circles on Violet’s back, slowly and soothingly. Violet took another breath, shivering at Cullen’s gentle touch, and continued.

“The fight wasn’t bad. It went pretty well for us, actually. But here I was, an overexcited thirteen-year-old eager to prove herself, and I thought I’d had enough training, so I left the carriage. And stumbled over a dead body. One of our vassals. I’d known him since I was little. It was the first dead body I’d ever seen. I...Maker, it was awful.”

“I understand,” Cullen murmured. “I was the same way when I saw my first corpse. Many young recruits have the same reaction.”

Violet sniffled and leaned into Cullen’s touch. “It’s all a bit of a blur after that. I vomited. I was attacked by a bandit. I was shell-shocked, way out of my league, and my father jumped in front of me to protect me from the bandit’s blow, and...and the bandit struck him down.”

“You don’t need to continue,” Cullen whispered, a hand running through Violet’s short hair. It was getting longer, actually, he noticed. She pressed her face into his collar and shook her head.

“It’s alright,” she insisted. “Just...I’ve never told anyone before about this. It...feels good to talk about it. To get it out of my head, even if it’s just for a bit. Anyway. Persephone saw Papa die, she saw me covered in his blood, and she panicked. Her powers made a violent appearance, and she was trying to help, but she was  _ on fire _ , Cullen, and she was terrified. I ran from her as fast as I could, as did most of the surviving bandits and entourage. Turned out, Papa was transporting some sort of explosive. Persephone blew up the entire caravan. She survived, thank the Maker, protected by her magic. But those too close to her at the time...were not as lucky. Myself among them, though I was fortunate enough to survive to tell the tale.”

There was silence after that, during which Violet’s quiet crying ceased and Cullen’s arms loosened. “Is that…” He swallowed. “The scars?”

Violet looked up at Cullen and flushed. “The ones on my back, you mean? I...when did you see them?”

“After Haven,” Cullen admitted. “When they were healing you. I was there.”

Violet looked away. “I’m sorry you had to see them. I...could’ve had them healed--somewhat, at least--when we reached the next village afterwards. But when we got there, Persephone was taken away from me by the Templars, and Papa was dead because of my stupid, my childish...my stubborn insistence on sneaking into the entourage with Persephone...and I decided that those scars were my fault, and I had to bear the punishment. I was a bit of a tragic romantic, hm? However, I did go to a healer. He healed most of the nerve damage, so I could continue to fight and train. Still hurts. But I told myself I’d never freeze up in battle again. I’d protect those dear to me. Cliche, yes, I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t play it off with humor,” Cullen told her. “I understand.”

Violet smiled. “So, we’ve both bared our skeletons. Is this the bit where we drink ourselves into a stupor?”

Cullen opened a drawer in the desk and took out two tumblers and a glass bottle of brandy. “If you like.” He poured them each a glass. “Do you play chess?”

Violet scoffed, then took a sip of the proffered drink. She hated brandy; it was too...sweet for her tastes. She preferred something that tasted like antiseptic and numbed everything on the inside. But she wasn’t going to look a gift-commander in the mouth, especially if it’d get the job done. She leaned into him, taking a gulp from her drink. “No. My older sister always tried to teach me, but I liked to cheat and refused to learn properly.”

“Would you like to learn? Now?” he asked, looking at Violet and taking a sip of his own glass.

“Why not?” Violet agreed, swinging her legs above the floor. “It’s a good distraction. Prepare the board, Commander.”

Cullen opened another drawer and pulled out a heavy wooden checkerboard and a case with marble pieces within, half of them white and half of them black. Violet scooted over and Cullen set the board between them on the desk. He picked up each piece and started to name them and describe their abilities to Violet, who rolled her eyes. “I know what they  _ are _ , Cullen, I’m not a complete heathen.”

Cullen grinned and refilled both of their glasses. “So. Your sister taught you something, hm?”

“By a miracle,” Violet said with a smile. “How did you learn?”

“My older sister, too. We played all the time, and she’d always beat me, and get this smug smile on her face. So my brother and I practiced every day. The day I finally beat her...you should’ve seen the look on her face.” He was smiling, which he did too rarely, Violet noted sadly, taking another swig of her drink.

“You’re close with your siblings, then?” Violet asked, downing her glass.

Cullen sighed. “Not so much anymore. I do not write them as often as I should. I may have also forgotten to tell them when I was transferred to Kirkwall. My older sister tracked me down eventually, though. I fear that I’ve missed much of their lives…”

“What are their names?” Violet asked, keeping the topic from going down a dark lane. They’d done enough broody confessions and sob-stories for the day. And, truthfully, she wanted to know about Cullen.

“Mia’s my older sister. She’s married now, has a couple of kids. I forget their names, forgive me. Then there’s me, then my brother Branson. He has a son, though no wife.” He laughed at Violet’s eyebrow wriggle. “Wasn’t really a surprise, that one. He was always a flirt. And then there’s my little sister Rosalie. I haven’t seen her since...Maker, since she was twelve. It’s been ages. She’d be twenty-four, now.”

Violet studied the board and made a move at random. “Maybe when this is over, we can visit them. If you like.”

Cullen moved a piece. “I’d like that. Now--the trick to winning is to think three moves ahead. Try to predict what your opponent will do.”

“This is why you’re the commander and I am  _ not _ ,” Violet said, moving another one of her pieces without any consideration. “So. Your family?”

“I should write my siblings,” Cullen admitted with a sigh. “What about you?  _ Your _ family?”

Violet hummed. “I come from a big family--religious, too, besides Persephone and me, and possibly my younger brother. My mother’s still alive. My oldest sister is Melody. She’ll most likely get the title and all the assets when my mother releases them. She’s married to some Antivan merchant from a very prominent family in the Chantry, and they have a couple of adorable children and another on the way. The kids have the fattest, reddest cheeks you’ll  _ ever _ see, honestly. Mel and I get along pretty okay, I suppose, but she’s far too serious and religious. Then there’s my brother Solomon. Married to some Orlesian lady, has a few kids, too. He was never home when I was a teenager. He was always travelling, and didn’t have time for his kid sister, unless she was fooling around with boys. Then I really got a stern talking-to, lectures about how I was an ungrateful punk. He was a bit of a prick, I’ll be the first to admit. Mind you, he’s slept with half of the female population of Ostwick!”

“Ambitious, that,” Cullen murmured, making a move.

“Then there’s Arthur. He’s a Templar. I don’t know which Circle, since he wasn’t allowed to be at Ostwick because of my sister. But they’re all disbanded now, anyway. He’s probably at home to avoid the fighting. Mother would simply  _ die _ if he got involved with the rebellion! Not that anyone would waste their tears on her.”

The door opened and they glanced up as a woman from the kitchens came in bearing a tray. She froze when she saw the two of them. “Oh. Inquisitor, Commander. I didn’t mean to intrude--I just brought dinner. Er, Lady Inquisitor, shall I bring another tray for you?”

“That’s fine,” Violet insisted. “Thank you, Lisa.”

The woman placed the tray on the desk and bowed out, closing the door softly behind her. Violet moved her pawn, not even sure if it was her turn or not, and kept talking, watching Cullen spread butter over a warm slice of bread. She was glad she didn’t have to force-feed him this time.

“Right. Then there’s my brother Cornelius, or Neeley for short,” Violet continued.

“Big family,” Cullen remarked.

“I’m not even done yet, Cullen,” she said with a smirk. “So. Neeley. He’s nice. Very mild-tempered, kind-hearted. Would’ve gone into the Chantry as an initiate if it weren’t for the fact that he met this Fereldan noblewoman--what was her name? Dhalia....Dhalia something. Something with a ‘C’...maybe...Cumin? Cooperland?”

“Cousland?” Cullen suggested. He’d heard the name before.

“Yes, that’s it!” Violet cried. “Dhalia Cousland. Yes, well, my brother met her a few years ago, and has been smitten ever since. She turned him down over and over, insisting that she couldn’t tie herself down. She’s also a formidable warrior, and didn’t want to be coddled. Neeley…” Violet tried to hold back her laughter, but it was hard. “Neeley wrote her _ poetry _ . All the time. Some of it was kind of dirty. Don’t tell him I’ve read it, he’ll kill me. But...well, apparently Lady Cousland enjoys romantic gestures like that. Similar to a certain Seeker we both know well. Anyway, Dhalia finally let him court her, and they’re engaged and are expecting, as well. Some Chantry brother he would’ve made, hm?

“After Neeley is me, then Persephone. Then there’s my little baby brother, Pudge. Or Phineas Webster Demarius IV, if you want to piss him off. He’s sweet, rather impulsive and reckless. He tried to run away with his  _ Dalish _ lover. His  _ male _ Dalish lover. Didn’t go well for them--Mother had them back within a day. The elf’s clan didn’t like it either. But, of course, Mother has relented since he’s the baby--sixteen years old. They’re allowed to see each other, as long as they’re discreet and don’t cause trouble or try to run away again. Mind you, if  _ I _ wanted to elope with a nobody--even if they were human!--I’d be locked up in my room like a fairy tale princess!”

Cullen chuckled. “Your family sounds...nice. You love them a lot, don’t you?”

Violet snorted. “I have to, how else would I be willing to put up with them poking in my business night and day? No boundaries, that lot. Oh, and I’ve gotten a letter from them; I haven’t read it yet, but I doubt it’s anything good--they’ll probably want every single detail of every single aspect of my life while I’ve been separated from them. Also, we should check out this shrine you mentioned in your report.”

“Will they...visit?” Cullen asked curiously, brain swirling a little at how she jumped topics so quickly.

Violet shrugged. “I have no idea, honestly.” She took a swig of the brandy. “We’ll need more of this stuff if they do, though, that’s for sure.”

“What about your mother?” Cullen asked, capturing Violet’s castle and returning the conversation to the previous topic. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a bitch,” Violet said, tossing back her glass of brandy with a grimace and moving a piece. “But I still love her, to a certain extent--usually when I don’t have to interact with her. She’s my mother, and she wants what’s best for me, but she also wants what’s best for the family and for our reputation and standing. It’s a hard balance, I guess. What about your parents?”

“They...perished in the Blight,” Cullen told her softly.

“I’m sorry,” Violet murmured, reaching out and placing her hand over his free one. He didn’t jerk his hand away, didn’t seem to mind, so Violet left her hand there.

“It’s alright,” Cullen sighed. “It was...ten years ago. I just...I’ve come to terms with it. I still wish I’d been there, though. To help my family. But I wasn’t.”

“You were...at Kinloch Hold, yes?” Violet asked tentatively, knowing it was a sensitive topic for him. He’d been there when it’d fallen to abominations and blood mages, after all.

“I’d...rather not talk about it,” Cullen said.

“I’m sorry,” Violet repeated. “But...Winona mentioned she knew you in Kinloch? Rather...fondly.”

Cullen coughed suddenly, his cheeks tinged a pale pink. “Er--yes, we did know each other. ‘Fondly’ is an apt description.”

Violet raised a brow, smirking. “Oh? A mage and a Templar? Knowing each other in fond ways?”

Cullen looked anywhere but at Violet. “It wasn’t like that. I was...drawn by her--she was beautiful, smart, kind, determined, ambitious. She was resolute that she would leave the Circle, one way or another. She even ran away once.”

“And?” Violet prompted gently. “I mean, it’s okay if you’d rather not…”

“No, it’s fine,” Cullen said, moving a piece. “This, I can talk about. Though I may blush myself to death. But, yes, Winona. By some sort of miracle, she...liked me, too. We...might have... _ dallied _ once or twice. Then she helped a blood-mage escape--she destroyed his phylactery so he couldn’t be tracked. They were friends, but it was still unacceptable. That blood-mage went on to poison the arl of Redcliffe.”

“Maker. They often leave that out of the legend,” Violet remarked. “But she seems like a lovely woman?”

“Very lovely,” Cullen said quickly, making Violet laugh a little. He blushed again. “I mean--well, after the incident with the blood-mage, she was recruited by the Grey Wardens and left that very day. She wasn’t even going to tell me; it was just by luck that I passed by her rooms while she packed.”

“That’s...not fun,” Violet said, gulping her brandy.

“It wasn’t,” Cullen agreed as he took her queen with his knight. “I said some awful things to her. Then, when she saved the Circle after it had fallen to blood mages...I said even worse things. My opinion on mages went very low after that.”

Violet didn’t respond, just killed the knight that had killed her queen. “You can’t do that,” he said, not moving his hand from under Violet’s. “You’ll put your king in check. The game is essentially over, Vi. I killed your queen and have nearly all of your other pieces.”

“My king is still pretty active,” Violet said, waving the piece in Cullen’s face. She liked the nickname he’d just called her by. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking, but she hoped he keeped it up.

He grabbed her hand, holding both of them, and smiled. “He’s useless without the queen, Vi.”

“What’s up with that?” Violet asked, letting herself get lost in his honey-colored eyes.

“Maybe he’s too heartbroken to continue fighting,” Cullen speculated. “Maybe they were really in love.”

“What if I asked you nicely to not kill my queen?” Violet asked.

“I’d still kill her,” Cullen replied with a crooked smile. “Sorry.”

Violet smiled back at him. “This...was fun. We should do this more often. Maybe after the siege, when things calm down.”

“I’d like that,” Cullen said, letting go of her hands, then stood up to lead Violet to the door.

Violet looked up at him by the doorway. She didn’t really want to leave, and she felt like he didn’t want that either. Maybe she was reading too much into things. She brushed that thought away and closed her eyes before rising to her tiptoes and pressing a soft kiss to Cullen’s lips, slightly chapped from the cool mountain air. She drew away quickly before she could let herself get carried away. “Goodnight.” Then she turned and headed back into the main hall, hoping she was drunk enough to not remember that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway I suck at writing drunk people. So pretend for my sake that it's not that bad. Thanks.
> 
> (If you know where that last conversation about the queen and king pieces is from, I'll love you forever).


	13. Still Here

The journey back to the Western Approach took much longer than the original journey there, which set Violet on edge. Moving an army, trebuchets, weapons and supplies, tents, healers--it wasn’t easy. And Violet felt obligated to stay with her people, instead of travelling ahead with the scouts.

Every night, when they set up tents, an extra tent was erected for Violet to meet with Cullen, Cassandra, and Hawke. Every day, they received new information and encountered new obstacles. Violet was bone-tired from it all. She was ready to lay down and take a nice, long nap, but she knew her exhaustion was nothing compared to how everyone else must feel.

“We should arrive tomorrow afternoon,” Cassandra said, jabbing her forefinger at the map where Adamant Fortress was marked by a pyramid-shaped object with a green glow hovering atop it. “We can begin the siege in the evening. Whenever Cullen says we’re ready.”

Violet nodded. Maker, they were really doing this. “Alright. Thank you all, for everything. For supporting me and for supporting the Inquisition and making it more than just...a bunch of start-ups.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Cassandra said softly with a very small smile. “We’ll make it out of this, striking a blow against Corypheus. I trust you, Violet.” Her smile grew. “Then we have Halamshiral to worry about.”

Violet groaned. “Right. Thank you, Cass.” She straightened. “If that’s all, I think we should all get a good night’s sleep.”

Violet followed the others out of the tent, but Cullen hesitated. Violet hovered, then crossed back to him, still watching the map on the table. “How are you holding up?” she asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He looked up at her, as if surprised that she was still there.

“Fine, Inquisi--Violet,” Cullen told her. “Just thinking.”

“No...lyrium sickness?” Violet asked, wanting to make sure he really  _ was _ okay without getting into his face about it. She recalled walking into the forge the week prior, looking for Cullen. A scout delivering a report on his desk had said he was there with Cassandra. And Violet had walked in on them having a heated argument about his withdrawal. He insisted that he needed to be replaced, but Cassandra would hear none of it. And Violet sided with Cass. His words as he left replayed in her head like a ghost’s whisper.

_ Forgive me. _

“I’m fine, Violet,” Cullen reiterated. “Truthfully.”

Violet stepped closer to him. “You know I’m always here for you. Always. No matter what.” She watched him until he met her eyes; his were soft and warm and tired.

“Violet…” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as a slight pink tinge touched his stubbly cheeks. “This...I feel that I should be honest with you. Even...even if it’s not well-timed, or...Maker, I just want you to know. I...have come to care for you a great deal. More than just...as my colleague, or my friend, or the Inquisitor. I…” He sighed. “Truthfully, I didn’t think it was possible. You’re the Inquisitor, we’re at war.” He took a step closer.

Violet tried to keep her breathing even. He was being vague, and Violet prayed she wasn’t misinterpreting his words. “I’m still here. We’re both still here. And I got some pretty useful advice the other day from a very wise person.”

“Oh?” Cullen prompted as Violet took another step closer to him.

“She said to take moments of happiness where I could,” Violet told him, looking up at him with hooded eyes. “You know...there will always be fear, always the chance that there may be a war or something else to keep us from experiencing…from being happy...” She trailed off as Cullen drew even closer, and Maker’s breath, how could she not kiss him?

Violet reached up and grasped the furry mantle Cullen wore and pulled him down to meet her lips. He gasped at her forwardness, but didn’t shy away. His lips were chapped from the hot desert wind, but he responded to the kiss passionately, his hands ghosting around Violet’s waist as she tilted her head back slightly. She felt his tongue brush gently, hesitantly, against her lips, and she opened her mouth with a quiet gasp, letting him in.

Maker, she had thought about this moment for far too long--taking it slow and kissing languorously, or Cullen shoving her against the wall and taking her right there. She’d thought about it far too much, but nothing could compare to the feel of his hands on her hips, pressing her just a little bit closer, or the scratch of stubble against her skin, the smell of cologne and candle wax and parchment, the taste of his sweat, the wet sound of their kiss and his soft but quick breaths.

She moaned louder than she’d intended when Cullen bit her lip and squeezed her ass at the same time. Violet wanted him. She hadn’t been with anyone in months, not since she accepted the role of Inquisitor, and she didn’t want to push him or press him, but Andraste’s blood, she wanted the layers between them to be  _ gone _ , for his skin to be flush against hers, to feel him as he--

“Ser, I have those reports you--oh!”

Violet and Cullen wrenched apart, looking toward the mouth of the tent where a flustered soldier stood, gripping a stack of papers in one hand. He started backing out as Cullen fixed a positively venomous glare on him. “I--I didn’t mean to...er...interrupt. I’ll...leave now…”

Violet started giggling as the tent flap fluttered shut behind the poor scout. She snorted, then clapped her hands over her mouth as Cullen started to laugh at her. He pressed his forehead to hers, hands running down her arms.

“That was...nice,” Cullen whispered, his warm breath fanning over her face. “I’ve been wanting to do that for...for quite some time.”

“Mmm,” Violet hummed. “That was perfect, Cullen. Except for the interruption. But I don’t mind, so long as we still get the juicy bits.”

“We might need to put off the ‘juicy bits’ until _ after _ the siege,” Cullen murmured, kissing her temple. He drew back a step, hands leaving Violet. “We should...go to bed. Er--I mean, not like that, not together." Violet's grin grew wider. "But you’re right, we need a good night’s sleep for tomorrow.”

Violet nodded, giving Cullen a quick kiss just above his lip to the thin scar there. He looked at her wistfully as he started putting out the candles and packing things away, and Violet grinned, swaying her hips as she left the tent.

“Somebody looks giddy,” a breathless voice said. Violet turned to see Persephone and Dorian sparring in a clearing nearby. Violet rolled her eyes. Andraste’s tits, that’s all she needed, the two of them to tag-team her and tease her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Violet murmured, hurrying past them, but they flanked and followed her.

“You weren’t very quiet,” Persephone said with a smirk.

“We heard some rather scandalous sounds,” Dorian added.

“Oh, it’s nothing compared to the sounds I hear when you go into Bull’s tent,” Violet retorted, enjoying how Dorian floundered for a moment. Persephone looked surprised, but her lips were still upturned. Violet smirked at Dorian. “You’re not that subtle, Slick.”

“Who says we’re trying to be?” Dorian countered. Then he frowned, his mustache quivering. “And really?  _ Slick _ ? I nearly prefer Sparkler--nearly.”

Violet laughed out loud, something she realized she had been doing too rarely. Maker, she missed the days where she laughed at  _ everything _ . When her smiles came easily and it didn’t hurt to do the things she loved, when she  _ could _ do the things she loved without worrying about other, less attractive responsibilities. When she didn’t wear her father’s ring.

“Anyway,” Persephone interjected, noticing how Violet went from smiling widely to suddenly moping. “Don’t try and deflect--not when Dorian owes me five sovereigns!”

“Oi!” Violet said indignantly. “Don’t make wagers regarding my love life!”

Persephone grinned crookedly. “Violet, you’ve made me quite a bit of money tonight. Cass thought you two would’ve admitted your feelings a while ago.”

Violet groaned. “You must stop.”

“Never. Now--details.” Persephone arched an eyebrow impatiently.

“I...we...I mean…” Violet sighed. Her mind was too full of  _ Cullen _ to properly articulate the previous moment she’d had with him. “I’d rather keep it to myself, for now.” It felt like a secret, that kiss. Not in the sense that nobody knew, because apparently, too many people knew. But in that it was something treasured and quiet and private and whispered in the semi-darkness of twilight, it was definitely a secret. And Violet cherished it more than anything. It wasn’t like any other kiss she’d had--it wasn’t fumbled or rushed or against her will. It was slow and meaningful and perfect and wonderful.

Persephone huffed. “Very well, if that’s how you’re going to be. I’ll just go collect money from the wager. Once again, I thank you dearly.” With a wink and a smirk, Persephone headed off with Dorian at her side, both speculating about what the  _ possible _ details may have been.

When Violet reached her tent, she entered and changed quickly. Her cheeks still felt warm as she slid into her bedroll. Her lips still tingled where he’d kissed her, bitten her gently. Maker, she felt like a teenager, replaying the kiss over and over in her head. Oh, if people only knew how the commander of the Inquisition could bring their fearless leader to her knees so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I just wanted to get them to just KISS already!! So I could move on with their relationship. I'm never writing slow burn again. (We haven't even gotten to the juicy bits and I'm tired of it omg).
> 
> I rewrote the kiss like a thousand times until I was somewhat semi-satisfied with it. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Also, if you're reading my Avvar AU, Barbarians, I just want you to know that I haven't abandoned it. I've just got a lot on my plate at the moment and probably won't be able to update until the summer :/ I'll try, though.


	14. In Death, Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I FEEL SO BAD FOR NOT UPDATING  
> but, well, things were very difficult for me and my beta the past few weeks. Finals, summer coming up, graduations and all that. But hopefully I'll get back into the rhythm of weekly updates. Alsoooo if you're reading my Avvar AU [Barbarians](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6680398/chapters/15277774) , I should be updating that one soon as well (I just have to tweak some things as I changed my idea for it a little).  
> (also I'm working on something really good for y'all, so maybe that'll get posted in the next few weeks as well!)

The tales of the Grey Wardens had always been Violet’s favorite stories as a child. Again and again, she’d ask to hear about them riding to battle on their legendary griffons, slaying darkspawn, and saving Thedas. Unstoppable warriors, heroes who received little thanks, men, women, elves, and dwarves who were dedicated to protecting innocents from the horde.

It tore Violet’s heart in half to be facing them now, a dagger in each hand.

A trebuchet flung flaming debris at Adamant Fortress, obliterating a section of the wall. A huge battering ram was rolled to the gates of the Fortress. Arrows and chunks of rock rained down on the soldiers, cutting a few unlucky ones down. The Inquisition heraldry caught fire and smoldered on the ground as the battering ram was slammed into the doors, once, twice. Three times.

The Inquisition soldiers stormed the entrance hall, striking down the Wardens who’d been barricading the Fortress. Violet followed them, head held high despite her fear. The Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste.

“Alright, Violet, you have your way through,” Cullen told her as he followed her through the decimated doors. “Better make use of it.”

Violet’s eyes softened as she looked at him. Before her companions arrived, she stepped closer to Cullen and touched his shoulder gently. “I will. But you better be careful, Cullen, or I’ll kick your ass. And don’t take any unnecessary risks--you or the soldiers.”

Cullen gazed at her, the circles under his eyes pronounced. “We’ll do what we have to, Violet. And I know that you’ll do the same.”

“Just...use caution, alright?” Violet pressed, looking away from him. Then she cleared her throat, stepping away as Persephone, Cassandra, Winona, and Varric passed through the destroyed gates. “We’ll clear the battlements for your troops.”

“Good luck, Violet,” Cullen murmured, his eyes earnest.

“See you later,” Violet returned with a smirk. She gestured for her companions to follow her up into the belly of the fortress as Cullen jogged back out to be with his troops.

There were demons everywhere on the battlements, assisting the Wardens. Violet grimaced as the Wardens and demons seemed to move in unison, the movements between them fluid. It turned Violet’s stomach to see such a  _ wrong _ display of partnership. She hated to kill Wardens, the heroes from her childhood, but she hated to see them corrupted even more.

They raced through the passages of the fortress with Hawke until they reached the center, where Clarel had gathered the unbound Wardens. Violet watched as the bald woman clad in Warden blue spoke to the crowd in the way that only the Warden-Commander could. And Erimond was there, whispering words of poison to her.

An elven woman stepped forward a few moments later at Clarel’s beckoning. Violet gasped in horror when she realized that she knew the elf--she’d met her weeks ago, where? Some damned city that had requested the Inquisition’s aid. She’d wanted to join the Wardens, and Violet had told her to, not knowing that they were performing blood magic. No, no, no, no--why was Clarel pulling a knife on the elf? She was barely out of her teens, a child with a desire to do good.

“I want to save the world from the Blight!” the elf said in a quavering voice that carried out through the crowd. Then Clarel wrapped her arms around the girl from behind as if to hug her, and pulled her dagger across her throat. A shower of blood spurted from the elf’s neck as she fell to her knees, then forward onto her front, the light gone from her eyes.

Erimond noticed Violet and her companions as she cried out in anger. “Stop them!” Erimond commanded. “We must complete the ritual!”

Violet stared at him with pure hatred--though not enough to rival Winona’s. Violet took a deep, shuddering breath, then lifted her arm to stop the Warden. Violet took a few steps forward, the other Wardens raising their weapons and staring at her.

“Of course you’d say that, Erimond,” Violet sneered. “You just can’t wait for all the Wardens to become subservient to you and your master.”

“Lies!” Erimond declared. “Clarel’s doing her duty as Commander of the Grey Wardens. She’s saving the world, putting a  _ permanent _ end to the Blight! Yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty.”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will,” Clarel responded. “Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them!”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus,” Winona spat, pointing a finger at them.

“Corypheus?” Clarel asked, eyes widening. “But he’s dead.”

“These people will say anything to shake your confidence, Clarel,” Erimond hissed like the snake he was.

Clarel sighed and rubbed her temples, her eyes closing as she thought. Violet bit her lip, wondering if someone would finally listen to reason. Then Clarel looked up, toward her mages. “Bring it through.”

Violet watched in disgust as a Rift in the middle of the courtyard spat and hissed, tendrils reaching out to the Wardens gathered around it. She could see...something flickering through the Rift, a demon hissing as Clarel seemed to prepare herself. Violet looked to her companions, then forward again.

“Attack!”

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor!” Erimond shouted as he slammed his staff on the ground. “He sent me  _ this _ to welcome you!”

Violet slapped her hands over her ears as a horrible, guttural roar ripped through the air, followed by the beating of wings. Violet gasped as a terrible, dark shape appeared in the sky, flying, black against the slate gray clouds. Her legs nearly turned to jelly as she beheld the beast. She’d never fought a dragon before.

“Get down!” Violet shrieked as the dragon swooped and spat red, crackling fire at them. They all dove in different directions, avoiding the heat of the flames. The dragon came to perch on the topmost tower, roaring its mightiness.

A spark of lightning hit Erimond in the back, sending him flying. Clarel was looking from him to the dragon, disgust in her eyes, as lightning encased her hand. She threw her hand toward the dragon, ignoring Erimond’s pathetic whimpering, and shot another arc of lightning toward the fell beast.

Fire was everywhere as Violet scrambled to her feet, watching the dragon take flight. Erimond was running, now, Clarel hot on his heels. But Violet was left with the mess of the Rift, the demons, the possessed Wardens to deal with before she could pursue them. As soon as they’d slaughtered a massive pride demon, Violet sprinted in the direction Clarel had gone, not caring whether or not the other were able to keep up. Violet had always been shorter than average, but she liked to think she made up for it with speed.

Dodging attacks from the dragon and cutting down any demons in her path, Violet finally found Clarel and Erimond on an outcropping of the fortress. Erimond shot bursts of fire at the Warden-Commander, but they reflected harmlessly off the magical shield surrounding her. “You!” she snarled. “You’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!” She swung her staff in a low arc and sent a Fade-green stone careening toward Erimond, knocking him off his feet, leaving him without a weapon.

“You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch!” Erimond laughed weakly. “All I did was dangle a bit of power before your eyes. And you couldn’t  _ wait _ to get your hands bloody!”

Clarel shook her head and swung her staff again, sending Erimond skidding across the stone. He whimpered pathetically, “You could have served a new god!”

“I will  _ never _ serve the Blight!” Clarel spat. Then the dragon landed just behind Clarel, and before anyone could react, it snatched Clarel in its maw and took off again, landing on a tower above them and shaking Clarel from side to side like a ragdoll. Then it released her, and her prone, broken body landed on the stones, blood leaking from her wounds. The dragon slowly leapt down from its perch like a perverse cat, its maw open, fire crackling in its throat. Violet squared her shoulders as it approached her. She backed up slowly with her companions as it drew closer, but they were at a precipice. There was only one way out: death.

“In war, victory,” Clarel croaked from where she lay. Violet was shocked to hear the woman breathing. “In peace, vigilance…” She rolled onto her back, raising her hand as the dragon pounced, releasing a bolt of lightning that struck the beast in the gut, sending it careening into the stone and smashing it. Violet dove out of the way, slamming into the shattering railing as the dragon disappeared into the darkness below.

Violet jumped to her feet in a flurry. “Run! The platform is giving out!”

She and her companions ran flat-out, trying to escape the crumbling platform. “Violet!” a voice screamed from behind her. She turned to see Winona clinging to the edge of the platform, her grasp slipping, and Violet did not hesitate to hoist the mage by her armpits back onto the platform. They kept running, even as the stone fell away from beneath Violet’s feet. She screamed as she flew backwards into the darkness, watching in horror as the rest of the platform collapsed and Persephone, Winona, Hawke, Cassandra, and Varric joined her.

Violet twisted and threw her hand out, crying out as unimaginable pain lanced up her arm and through her body, blinding her momentarily. Then a green light sparked and a Rift opened up before them, swallowing them as Violet passed out, her last thoughts of the Wardens’ motto:  _ In death, sacrifice _ .

***

Violet’s eyes fluttered open when the falling stopped. But something still wasn’t right. She was upside down, suspended by...nothing. She blinked a few times at the ground right before her eyes before reaching out and touching it. She grunted as she collapsed onto the ground, everything reoriented correctly now. She rose slowly from the ditch she’d fallen in, crawling out and coughing and groaning.

She gasped when she stood up and looked around.

Maker’s breath, where was she?

The sky was a hazy green, if there was a sky. It was obscured by green mist hanging above them oppressively. Spires of rock jutted out randomly, and the ground was uneven and ever-shifting beneath her feet.

“Where are we?” Hawke asked, looking around from a peculiar perch on a rock. A sideways perch on the rock, though he seemed to be standing straight. To Violet, he was horizontal, parallel to the horizon as she saw it.

“We were falling,” Winona murmured, peering at Violet from where she stood, walking on the underside of a rock jutting out from a cliff, much like a bat would hang to sleep. “Is this…? No, it can’t be! Are we dead?”

Persephone hauled herself up from a puddle of green water, blowing out an annoyed breath. “Fade, Warden? Is that where we are? Because I’m getting some nasty Fade-vibes in here.”

Violet reached up to help Winona down, the woman falling heavily into her arms. Soft despite her battle prowess. Mages had impressive arm strength from wielding staffs all day long, but it didn’t turn them into toned warriors or rogues. Plus, they didn’t have to go through vigorous physical exercises. Violet settled Winona down and headed over to Hawke as Cassandra appeared from around a corner and Winona helped Varric down from where he’d gotten stuck.

“It doesn’t look like the Fade I know,” Winona said, stretching. “The first time I ever felt it, I was little. Really little. Five or six. It looked like a bakery filled with all the sweets I could ever imagine. The baker was a demon, preying on the innocent greed of a child. It tried to possess me, but it scared me and I woke up, screaming. I’d turned my entire room into ice. That morning, I was hauled off by the Templars.”

Persephone looked at her sister, then to Winona, who seemed a bit surprised by her own over-sharing. “Right. So then...this isn’t a dream? Are we here...physically?”

Hawke straightened and peered down at Violet. “Everyone says you walked out of the Fade in Haven. Was it like this?”

Violet took a step back, peering around. “I don’t remember.” She sighed. “Anything. About that, I mean. I was there, at the Conclave, representing my family...and then I was in the dungeons of the Chantry.”

“Well, that huge demon Erimond was summoning was just on the other side of that Rift he was using,” Varric murmured. “So it may be nearby. Probably best if we keep moving. There could be more demons anywhere.”

Cassandra looked around. “The Rift Erimond was using was in the Main Hall. Maybe we can escape that way?”

Violet looked up into the “sky” at a swirling vortex there that shimmered and glowed. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get moving.”

They hurried through the horrifying environment, a sick, twisted mirror of their own world. Violet stumbled up the last few steps of a worn stone staircase they were climbing when she saw a woman dressed in a white gown detailed with red and gold, a scarlet hat atop the figure’s head, adding another foot to her height, at least.

Cassandra gasped. “By the Maker! Could it be…?”

“I greet you, Inquisitor, Warden, Champion, and companions of the Inquisitor,” the woman said in a lilting Orlesian accent.

“Divine Justinia?” Violet asked in disbelief, brow furrowing. “But...didn’t you die?”

Violet looked around at her companions. Was that rude? To ask a dead person if they were dead? Or maybe she was hallucinating? But her companions seemed to be just as confused as she.

Winona sighed. “The Divine is dead, Violet. We most likely face a spirit...or a demon.”

“You think my survival impossible, yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves,” the Divine--or whatever--countered, tipping her head to the side slightly. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“But...what are you?” Violet sputtered.

The Divine smiled gently. “I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

“That is...correct,” Violet answered slowly, unnerved that this thing knew that.

“The memories you lost were taken by the demon that serves Corypheus,” the Divine told her. “It is the nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off of memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. That false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

Winona stiffened. “Then it will die.”

“You will have your chance, brave Warden,” the Divine assured him. “This place of darkness is its lair. And I have found you, Inquisitor, to help you leave its lair. The demon took a part of you when you left the Fade in Haven. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.” She gestured to a few wraiths on the path ahead of them. “These are your memories, Inquisitor.”

“Alright,” Violet said, rolling her shoulders and palming her daggers. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

They tore through the wraiths easily enough, and each one left a glowing green light behind. A memory. As Violet approached the first one, she heard voices echoing in her head. When she absorbed the last one, something flashed against her eyes and she fell to her knees as pain screamed in her head. It felt like someone had taken a hammer and chisel to her forehead, drilling a memory back into her brain.

_ She watched as the Divine was suspended in midair by magic, hovering in the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Grey Wardens held her in place, their arms outstretched. The Divine looked at them sadly. “Why are you doing this? You, of all people?” _

_ Then a figure strode forward. Corypheus, an orb in his hand. The orb Solas had mentioned? “Keep the sacrifice still,” Corypheus commanded, holding out his arm, the orb in his palm. The orb started to glow and crackle, drawing on the Divine’s life energy as she called out for help. _

_ The doors to the inner sanctum of the Chantry flew open when Violet shoved them. She remembered: it had been the middle of the night. Violet had been down the hall, in a closet, actually, spending “quality time” with a mage from Val Royeaux, even though there was a curfew to avoid any accidental violence between the delegations. When Violet had heard the plea, she’d run to help. _

_ “What’s going on here?” she thundered, drawing Corypheus’ attention. In that split second of distraction, the Divine knocked the orb from Corypheus’ hand, sending it flying across the room to Violet. Violet caught it instinctively, crying out as it seemed to fuse to her hand, sending fire through her entire body. Corypheus had screamed, and then everything was white. _

Violet slumped forward and moaned, clutching her hand, the pain so fresh in her mind. A hand urged her to her feet, and she stood on wobbly legs. She leaned into Cassandra, panting.

“So your Mark did not come from Andraste,” Winona said dryly. Had everyone seen the memory with her? Maker, she hoped they’d only seen the bits with the Divine. She didn’t need the entire Inquisition gossiping about what she did in her spare time. “It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual.”

The Divine--or spirit, or demon--reappeared beside them. She explained Corypheus’ true intentions of entering the Fade and becoming a so-called god, and that Violet had, essentially, gotten in the way.

Violet gaped. “Well, let’s be honest, I’m not holy, not at all. I always thought Andraste had to have more sense than to bestow that sort of power upon me. It makes more sense--all the pieces fit.”

“You cannot escape the lair of the Nightmare demon until you’ve recovered all that it took from you,” the Divine continued. “You have uncovered some of yourself, but now it knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare the way ahead.” Then the Divine disappeared, leaving them to squabble.

“Is something troubling you, Hawke?” Winona asked, an edge to her tone.

Hawke shook his head, frowning. “Those were Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision. Their actions led to her death.”

Winona scoffed. “After everything we’ve been through so far, you don’t stop to think that maybe he had taken their minds? Like he’s done already? Andraste’s tits, Hawke, now is not the time for this! We’ll argue  _ after _ we recover Violet’s memories and escape the Fade.”

Hawke got in her face. “Oh, I intend to.”

“Come on, we can’t start fighting now,” Violet said, stepping between them as they squared off. “We need to stick together. Let’s go.”

They kept moving. It was strange. The Fade didn’t seem to have a precise temperature. At first, it felt tepid, like water at room temperature. But then you’d get the chills suddenly, and everything felt cold. Your breath would puff out in cloud before your mouth, shivers wracked your body. And a few minutes later, you could be dripping sweat, the heat oppressive and stifling, and you’d barely be able to breathe. It unsettled Violet, the constant shift.

_ “Ah, we have a visitor _ ,” a voice called, seeming to come from all around them with no discernible point of origin. “ _ Some foolish little girl comes to steal the fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your fear where it lay, forgotten. You think that pain will make you stronger? What fool filled your mind with such drivel? The only one who grows stronger from your fear is _ me _. But you are a guest here in my lair, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten. _ ”

Violet jerked backwards from the rumbling voice that made centipedes crawl down her spine and fear claw up her throat like bile. A warm hand settled on her shoulder and she turned to see Varric, smiling reassuringly. Violet nodded at him, watching the valley below as it filled with a handful of wraiths. Memories.

They hurried to the valley with the wraiths and ripped through them, a few other demons joining the fray. Because nothing could ever be simple. She looked at the memories hovering in front of her. But hadn’t she already recovered the ones regarding the Temple and the Fade? She reached out to one, a gasp shuddering through her as she saw thirteen-year-old Violet and eleven-year-old Persephone cramped in the back of a carriage, hugging their knees.

_ “Papa will be so excited when we surprise him!” Violet whispered to her little sister. “He’ll be proud that we were so quiet. Maybe he’ll get me a rogue teacher so I can learn all the different things about...being a rogue! He’s already said he would if I seemed promising enough.” _

_ Persephone giggled and Violet shushed her impatiently. “I want to be a rogue, too! But Papa won’t let me train with you. He says I’m too little--it’s not fair. I’m only two years younger than you!” _

_ “Two and a half,” Violet corrected arbitrarily. “It’s a big difference. Besides, you have to show  _ promise _. Otherwise, he’s just throwing away his money.” _

_ Then the carriage rolled to a stop. “Are we there already?” Persephone asked hopefully. It was awfully uncomfortable being stuffed in the back of a carriage meant for carrying boxes of supplies. _

_ Violet shook her head. “Can’t be. We’ve only been travelling an hour or two.” _

_ They waited in silence until they heard screams and the clang of metal. Violet looked excitedly at Persephone. “D’you hear that, Pers?” Persephone nodded. “That’s the sound of a fight. When the guards train in the courtyard, you can hear the blades clashing for miles! You stay here.  _ I _ know how to fight. I’m going to help.” _

_ Persephone pouted as Violet took out two daggers,  _ Mercy _ and _ Wrath _. She opened the door to the carriage slowly, cautiously, as if expecting one of the guards of the escort to reprimand her and haul her by her ear to her father for sneaking on board. _

_ “It’s not fair,” Persephone whined petulantly. _

_ Violet shushed her. “You don’t know how to fight. You’ll only get in the way. I’ll get you when the fighting is over and we can surprise Papa, alright?” Persephone didn’t seem happy, but she nodded anyway. _

_ “Leave the door open,” Persephone asked. “It gets too dark in here.” _

_ “Fine,” Violet sighed, thinking that Persephone might be a little too babyish to start any sort of weapons training any time soon. Maybe Pers ought to wait until she was  _ fourteen _. _

_ Leaving the door ajar, Violet walked out from behind the carriage, her daggers held the way her father had taught her. She saw men dressed in grimy clothing fighting her father’s men, swords connecting, and she smiled proudly. Then she tripped over something large and soft. She shook her head and looked down, her brain not understanding what her eyes were seeing. _

_ “Ser Landry?” she whispered, staring at the guard under her. She climbed off him hastily, scared she’d hurt him. “Ser Landry, what are you doing on the ground?” He didn’t answer. Violet swallowed, suddenly terrified as she noticed how his eyes did not shine or see, how his mouth was opened laxly as if he’d been shouting something, how an arrow protruded from both sides of his neck and blood stained his uniform and seeped into the dirt beneath him. _

_ “Ser...Landry…?” Violet asked, voice quivering as she reached out to touch his too-pale face, her fingers trailing to where the arrow stuck out from his neck. He was colder than any person Violet had touched, with just a tinge of warmth. She snatched her hand away when she touched something wet and sticky and hot but cooling rapidly. Her hands came away from Ser Landry covered in scarlet. _

_ Violet started screaming. Ser Landry was dead, undeniably dead, dead, dead, dead. Violet flew to her feet, vision blurred by tears, and ran straight into the large belly of one of the men attacking the caravan. She bounced backwards and fell on her bottom, scrubbing at her eyes, the stench radiating from the man making her retch onto her front. _

_ “Little girly, what are you doing here?” the big man asked, leaning down and grinning at her with a gap-toothed mouth. _

_ Violet started crying even harder. “I want to go home! I want my papa!” _

_ Then man hoisted her by the collar of her shirt, harshly, and Violet whimpered. She didn’t think this man was here to help her at all. And her daggers were somewhere on the ground, discarded as she had tried to help Ser Landry. _

_ The man raised a short knife to her throat. It was crusty and bloody and it hurt when he pressed it to the soft, thin skin of Violet’s neck. _

_ “No!” someone cried. Then Violet was falling to the ground, conking her head on a rock. The man who had tried to hurt her was on the ground, grappling with someone half his size. Violet started screaming when she realized it was her father pinned under the man’s weight, and that the fat man was now pressing the same knife to her father’s throat, and now there was blood spurting from her father’s neck, painting the fat man red. _

_ “Papa?” Violet croaked through her sobs, shaking. _

_ The man rose, swiping a hand over his face to smear the blood out of his eyes. He snarled at Violet. “Dumb bitch. I’m gonna kill you, too, now.” _

_ “Violet? What’s going on?” a small voice asked. Violet whipped around to see Persephone standing uncertainly in front of the carriage. The younger girl’s eyes swept from Violet to their father on the ground, unmoving. “What’s wrong with Papa?” _

_ “Get away, Pers!” Violet shrieked. The man hit her and she tumbled backwards, crying again. _

_ “Is Papa...Violet, what happened? Why isn’t he moving? Papa? Papa!” Persephone’s voice grew more and more panicked with each syllable. “Violet!” _

_ Violet turned to see the man raising the knife again. She raised her arm futilely to protect herself, but then there was a tremendous  _ SNAP _ and a flash of light and a wall of heat hit Violet like a rampaging Qunari. The man in front of her started screaming as he was swallowed by the flames. They licked up his clothes like he was tinder, destroying him. _

_ Violet scrambled away, bawling. She hugged herself as she stumbled, the fires chasing her. _

_ “Violet! Help me!” _

_ Her sister. She couldn’t leave Persephone behind. She turned and saw a figure standing in the midst of the fire like the legendary Andraste herself. But this was no martyr for a religion. This was Persephone, ensconced in flames of her own creation. Violet screeched as her sister threw her arm out, a pleading gesture, and a gust of fire roared toward Violet. She turned and kept running, leaving behind her sister, but she wasn’t fast enough. A howl tore from her throat as the fire reached her, scouring the flesh of her back as she fell. _

“Violet!” a far-off voice hollered. “Violet!”

Violet choked on a sob as the Fade swam back into focus. She held herself tightly, unable to fight the tears burning her eyes. She felt her body wrack with sobs that she could not stop, shake with fear that she could not dispel. A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched away, falling against a rough rock.

“Violet, are you okay?” a gentle voice asked. Violet glanced at Winona, who looked at her worriedly.

“D--did you see?” Violet asked tremulously, sucking in a breath.

The look in Winona’s eyes was confirmation enough. “Yes,” she said softly. “Now come, stand up. The Nightmare demon is going to throw all that he can at you. You’ve got to fight that.”

Violet let Winona help her to her feet. She saw Persephone in the fetal position on the ground, trembling like a leaf. Varric and Hawke were trying to coax her into getting up.

“Persephone,” Violet said quietly. She saw her sister flinch. “I’m sorry. About everything. Again.”

“It’s not  _ you _ ,” Persephone wailed. “Maker, I hate that fucking demon so much. As if I haven’t relived that moment a thousand times in my dreams! I’m gonna kill it.”

Violet offered her hand to her sister. “You’re not mad?” she asked uncertainly.

Persephone took Violet’s hand and shook her head as she rose to her feet. She rubbed her face. “No, I’m not. I’ve made my peace. It was just...unsettling. To see it from your view. But that thing, that demon, is trying to drive a wedge between us. Divided we fail. Besides...Papa would’ve done the same for me. I wouldn’t want you to hate me. His sacrifice let us both be here. It meant something, Vi. It meant we could keep fighting.”


	15. Comfort Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this, two updates in a week. (Don't get too used to it lmao)

The Rift in the Main Hall sputtered violently, and the assembled soldiers gazed in fear as they cut down demon after demon, waiting grimly for the next wave to burst forth, even as exhaustion weighed on their limbs and slowed their strikes. But out poured three figures, distinctly humanoid.

“Seeker!” the nearest soldier cried when he saw the woman rise, helping Persephone and Varric to their feet. Cassandra looked around confusedly at the soldiers who were still fighting demons.

“Where is the Inquisitor?” she asked as the last demon was slaughtered. The nearest soldier shook his head and shrugged.

“She disappeared with you.”

Cassandra, Persephone, and Varric shared a look, then turned to the Rift. They couldn’t see anything through the constantly shifting green layers that comprised the tear, but they hoped that every flicker was Violet jumping through with Hawke and Winona. Maker, what was taking them so long? They’d been right behind them!

Then the Rift jerked again, spitting and hissing and roiling as another, bizarrely shaped figure jumped out. Cassandra reached for her sword, just in case, but then she realized that it was Winona. Not alone, either--Violet was over her shoulder, kicking and screaming.

“No!” Violet cried. “You can’t have left him! No, Winona, put me down! Let me go back! We need to help Hawke!”

“Enough, Violet!” Winona spat back, wrestling with the worming Inquisitor. For a mage, Winona was a lot stronger than she looked. She was able to pin Violet down to the stone, minimizing her struggles. “The choice is made. It was either me or Hawke, Violet. You were not an option. The Inquisition needs you. Staying behind would’ve damned everyone.”

A sob tore from Violet’s throat as she started crying. Winona straightened up, releasing Violet warily. “Well? Are you going to close this thing, or will Hawke’s sacrifice be in vain?”

Violet lurched to her feet and threw her arm out at the Rift with a frustrated scream, squeezing her hand into a fist and then pulling it toward her. The Rift imploded magnificently, sending a shower of sparks and lights over the assembled warriors. The force of it knocked Winona back a few feet, and she studied Violet nervously.

“Thank you, Violet,” Winona said calmly.

“Fuck off,” Violet growled back, getting right in Winona’s face. Violet was shorter than the Warden, but she would not be intimidated. Her green eyes met Winona’s brown ones, anger flashing in both of them. “Get out of my way.”

Violet stormed past the Warden, but the people weren’t done with her. A soldier hurried up to her. “Inquisitor! The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori Magister is unconscious but alive. Commander Cullen thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those that weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”

As if on cue, a Warden strode forth, his fist over his heart. “We stand ready to help make up for Clarel’s... _ tragic _ mistake.”

Then Cassandra pushed through, looking confused. “Where  _ is _ the Champion?”

Violet glanced at Winona, then down at her boots. Maker, she didn’t want to be the one to say it, but Winona’s jaw was set. Violet took a deep, shuddering breath before speaking. “Dead,” she said in a hoarse voice. She cleared her throat slightly and tried to be louder. She was here because Winona and Hawke thought the Inquisition needed her. Because she was their leader. “He died striking a decisive blow against Corypheus.”

Cassandra lowered her head. “The Champion is gone.”

Violet bit her lip and nodded, glancing toward Varric, who stared at her with a look of disbelief, shock, even a little anger. Violet quickly averted her gaze, unable to face the results of her inaction.

The Warden turned to Winona. When he spoke, his voice trembled with barely concealed panic. “Lady Amell. You’re the senior surviving Grey Warden. What do we do now?”

Winona gazed at Violet, a pleading look in her eyes. Violet stared coldly back at her. Here was her chance to get back at Winona for abandoning Hawke, for shocking Violet with a quick lightning spell and tossing her over her shoulder and leaping through the Rift. To banish the Wardens yet again.

And Maker, she wanted to. But she thought of Hawke, and she knew he would never have done that had their roles been reversed. Because he was a real leader. Violet looked away from those assembled before her. “You can stay with the Inquisition and...do whatever you can to make yourselves useful. Kill demons, or something.”

“Thank you, Your Worship,” the Warden said. “We will not fail you.”

Violet sighed wearily, hunching in on herself and walking as quickly as she could away from the crowd. Winona started to follow her, but Violet held her Marked hand up. “Stop it,” Violet hissed. “Don’t follow me. I don’t know what’ll happen if I use this Anchor on you, but I doubt you’d like to find out.” Then she spun on her heel and stormed off, tears burning her eyes as her stomach roiled with pain and betrayal.

She had trusted Winona. Liked her, even. Respected her. How could the mage treat her like that? Betray her in such a way? It made Violet hurt the more she thought of it. She clenched her teeth to choke back a sob and walked faster.

“Inquisitor!” a soldier called.

Violet froze and sighed, composing herself before facing the man. “Jim. Is this important?”

He balked at the redness of the Inquisitor’s eyes, the gleam of unshed tears standing on her lower lid. He cleared his throat hastily. “It’s the commander, Your Worship. He’s in the infirmary tent. He’s not in critical condition, but Mother Giselle requested that I send for you as soon as you were able.”

“Cullen? He’s okay, right?” Violet asked worriedly, taking a step closer, momentarily forgetting the turmoil of emotions in her gut.  _ Maker, let him be okay _ . She didn’t know what she’d do if he  _ wasn’t _ .

Jim nodded hastily. “Stable condition, I’m told. He’d want to see you, the Revered Mother said.”

Violet nodded, taking a step back. “Ah, thank you. Dismissed.” Then she hurried past him, navigating her way through the maze of tents until she found the large infirmary tent, which was unfortunately packed with injured and dying soldiers. Violet kept her head bowed as she navigated the grid of cots laden with moaning and sobbing soldiers, her heart clenching as she passed Chantry sisters and healers attending those poor men and women.

“Inquisitor,” one Chantry sister said in surprise when she saw Violet. “Do you require aid?”

Violet shook her head, blushing slightly, still fighting back tears for Hawke. “Ah, no, thank you, I’m fine. Where is Commander Rutherford?”

The sister pointed a few rows over, and Violet’s heart leapt when she saw his familiar golden curls. Now, though, they were untamed by oil or wax, and they haloed his head in a frizzy mess. She rushed to him, kneeling beside his cot, staring at him with worry. He was shirtless, most of his chest concealed by a bandage focused on his upper arm. He was pale, but conscious, and looked over as Violet arrived, his gaze softening as it met hers.

“Violet,” he murmured.

“Oh, Cullen,” Violet breathed, her hand finding his and squeezing gently. A few tears managed to escape. “What happened to you?”

A soft smile touched his lips as he brushed away her wayward tears with a calloused thumb. “Took an arrow to the shoulder. I’ll be fine. Truthfully, I think I’m already fine. But Mother Giselle insists on keeping me here.” He sighed and Violet said a quick prayer of thanks, pressing a kiss to the hand she held.

“She’s right, you know,” Violet told him. He raised a challenging brow. “You needn’t go around stressing yourself further. The fight is done. The Wardens are joining our cause.”

Cullen sat up straighter, instantly shifting into Commander Mode. “Violet, if they are still susceptible to Corypheus, then--”

Violet sighed and cut him off with a quick kiss. “Hush, Commander. I’ve given them tasks that they can’t really mess up. Killing demons. They won’t be privy to any Inquisition secrets.”

Cullen reached up and touched Violet’s hair, running his fingers through it. “I could never doubt you, Violet. Now, tell me what’s happened. I had to leave the battle shortly after the dragon attack. You and the others fell into a Rift--I was so worried about you, but the Sisters would not let me leave to go to the remaining Rift and wait for you. What happened?”

Violet took a moment to steel herself. She would not bury more traumatic events. She had to trust the man who proclaimed his love for her, as foreign as that all seemed. She wasn’t used to this...mutual attraction  _ and _ respect thing. “Awful things, Cullen. We ended up in the realm of a nightmare demon. It showed us our worst fears and memories. I, of course, saw what happened to my family ten years ago. I...would rather not talk about it.”

Cullen continued to stroke Violet’s hair. “Then don’t. Is everyone safe?”

Violet bit her lip, looking away. She didn’t want to tell him that she’d almost stayed in the Fade. The others had gone through the Rift, leaving Violet, Winona, and Hawke on the other side, trapped as the Nightmare demon lumbered in front of the Rift. To get past, one of them would have to engage it, and would remain in the Fade. Immediately, Winona and Hawke stepped forward to fight the demon, to right their respective mistakes.

They’d turned to Violet for a decision. She’d taken a shuddering breath and turned away. “I will stay,” she’d said. “The Inquisition doesn’t need  _ me _ . I’m not a leader. I’m just...a mistake, someone too unlucky to die with everyone else. Winona, Hawke, you two are the  _ real _ leaders. You will lead the Inquisition to greatness. I’ll...buy you time.”

“Not happening,” Hawke said gruffly. “The Inquisition  _ does _ need you. You are meant for this.”

“How can you say that when you just saw--everything?” Violet had nearly sobbed. “It was pure accident that I stumbled upon Corypheus’s plot at the right time. That’s chance, coincidence.”

Winona had cut in. “It was chance that Alistair and I got sent to light the beacon during the battle of Ostagar. It was chance that Duncan was visiting on the same day that I assisted a blood mage in escaping the Circle. It was chance that that same blood mage went on to poison the arl because he was hired to tutor the arl’s mage son. Everything is chance, Violet! That doesn’t mean that we’re any less needed. The people need you now more than ever, Violet. Your death will mean an end to anything and everything the Inquisition is fighting for.”

Violet saw the determination on both her companion’s faces. “I cannot...ask you to sacrifice yourselves.”

Winona softened. “You don’t need to. We are ready and willing.”

Violet shook her head, fighting back tears. “But--”

“But nothing, Violet,” Hawke said, touching her arm. “I hope to see you on the other side.”

Before Violet could realize what he was doing, he was running toward the fear demon, raising his sword as he charged, a fearsome battle cry leaving his lips. “No!” Violet screamed, watching as a man she’d began to think of as a friend ran to his death. She started after him, but Winona raised her hand, and a bolt of lightning hit Violet in the back. She froze up and started to fall, but Winona grabbed Violet around the waist and hoisted her onto her shoulder, running full speed to the still swirling Rift and leaping through.

“Violet?” Cullen said in concern, touching her cheek. She looked up at him, gasping as tears poured from her eyes without restraint. She shook her head and sat back, covering her face with her hands, hunching in on herself as sobs racked her body.

Cullen sat up and pulled Violet onto the cot and to him, kissing her temples as her body shook. He murmured words of comfort into her neck, his lips soft against her skin. She clung to him, nails digging into his skin--Maker, what was wrong with her? He was the injured one, he was the one who needed comforting. She pulled back from him, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” she murmured, lowering her head. “I just--never mind. How have you been holding up? With the...lyrium business?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “Er--I’m fine, currently, thank you for asking.”

Violet dried her tears with the edge of her shirt. She shifted on the cot so she was beside him, sitting up. He met her eyes with a tentative smile and she returned it with a sniff, her hand searching for his. Their fingers entwined and Violet let her eyes close.

“Hawke didn’t make it,” she said quietly after a few moments of silence from them both. Another few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and her throat worked as she breathed past the lump there.

She felt him stiffen beside her with shock. “I’m sorry, Violet.”

“I know,” she whispered. “We’re all just a bunch of sorry assholes who have to move on and make his sacrifice worth something.” She sighed. “Sorry. That was mean.”

Cullen leaned over and kissed her forehead again. “It was true, though. Sometimes, we don’t need niceties. We need realism.”

Violet hummed. “You know, after this, I don’t think Halamshiral will be so bad. If I can walk through the Fade and back, then I can take on a few nobles, right?”

“Inquisitor!” someone called. Violet groaned and opened her eyes. There was a scout approaching them, clutching a letter. He gave it to Violet with a bow and then retreated. Violet sighed, then tensed up when she saw the writing on the outside of the letter. All it said was  _ To the Inquisitor, with all possible haste _ , but Violet knew who had written it.

“A letter from Josephine?” Cullen asked, peeking over. Violet turned to him as she opened it, taking out the letter. She read the letter quickly, frowning as she did so, her hand clenching Cullen’s almost painfully. She loosened her grip when she heard him suck in a quick, quiet breath of discomfort.

“Sorry,” she murmured, passing him the letter. “It’s just, she says my sister has contacted her, saying I never responded to the last letter she wrote me. She wanted to know if I was okay. If I would come home to visit, since our mother...is ill.”

Cullen ran his hand through her hair when he finished reading, moving to cup her face. “You should go ahead of the rest of us. Take a few of your inner circle. I’ll take care of everything else. This…” He sighed heavily as met Violet’s emerald gaze. “I wasn’t there for my parents, Vi. You should be there for yours.”

“Cullen,” she said in an unsure tone, feeling tears well up again as a lump lodged in her throat. She looked away from him. “I don’t want to leave everything on your shoulders like this.”

Cullen touched her chin gently, directing her eyes to his. His were sincere and full of affection and understanding. “It’s my job to command the troops, Violet. If I can’t do that without you around, then I’m not much of a commander.”

Violet smiled and leaned forward to kiss him softly on the lips. “Fine. Since you’re so desperate to be rid of me.” She smiled against his lips and kissed him again, fingers running through his curls. She pulled away quickly, though, still aware that they were not alone. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning. A small group--me, Persephone, Dorian, and Iron Bull. I’ll leave you Cassandra for help. And Solas might be able to give you guidance on any Fade issues you may encounter.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said as Violet started to stand up. He pulled her back for another kiss and she bit his lip playfully, just hard enough that he flinched away in surprise.  _ Not the place _ , she told him with a stern look. Then she stood up fully and winked at Cullen. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Commander.”

Cullen watched her leave, noticing that the ring on her finger, for the first time ever, was gone.


	16. Realizations

It was a week later that Violet finally decided to read her sister’s letter. They were still camped a distance from Adamant as Cullen and Cassandra organized the troops, the spoils, the injured.

The letter her sister had sent her what seemed like weeks ago sat in one of her bags in her tent. She sat on her cot and started rummaging through one of them, neatly setting things aside. Then she pulled out the slightly crumpled envelope with her name on it. Her  _ title _ .  _ Lady Inquisitor Violet Gertrude Trevelyan _ . She grimaced at her full name being used.

_ My dearest Violet, _

_ We have been greatly worried about you since the news of the Conclave. Rumors had reached us, of course, that a Trevelyan had been named the Herald of Andraste and, subsequently, the Inquisitor, but I dared not hope it was you, that you were still among us. It soothes my heart to know that you are indeed alive and well. _

_ As for Persephone, I am glad that she has not fallen prey to demons. She was always such a sweet girl. It would’ve been a pity for her to become an abomination, or for her to be made Tranquil. _

_ Mama has not been well. She fell ill soon after news of the Conclave reached us. I believe the blow of losing yet another family member has dealt her a tremendous blow, and it has been detrimental to her health. We fear she may not recover. She has asked every day if there is news about you. _

_ With love, your adoring sister, _

_ Melody. _

Violet felt the wind  _ whoosh _ out of her lungs like someone had just sucker-punched her. Her vision went a bit blurry, and she leaned forward, resting her head on her horse’s warm neck. When she’d written the letter to her family, she hadn’t expected  _ this _ sort of response. Maybe a “We’re happy you’re alive, keep it up, champ.” Or a “How have things been? Sorry about treating Persephone like shit for all these years.” Not  _ this _ .

As much as Violet sometimes hated her family, as much as she and her mother didn’t get along, she hadn’t wanted  _ this _ .

***

When the camp was set for the night, Violet found herself wandering the maze of tents rather numbly. She barely saw her surroundings, or the blur of soldiers as they tended to their duties. She didn’t even have her ring to twist for comfort. She’d given it to Persephone in the Fade. Because Papa would have wanted her to have it, too.

Moonlight from Thedas’s two moons bathed the bare landscape in silvery light, just enough to see by. Violet found a secluded area still within sight of camp, but away from the omnipresent  _ noise _ , the low hum of chatter and walking and campfires crackling and mabari barking. Just a moment, to be alone.

She sat on the sandy ground, which would slowly turn more earthy and green as they approached the eastern, more fertile lands of Orlais. She wrapped her arms around her knees loosely, staring up at the inky black sky that loomed over her. The stars glittered and shone like billions of pinpricks of light, a constellation of freckles over the night sky. It was so close that she could almost tell herself she could reach it.

“I heard a story, once,” a voice said as it approached. Violet didn’t need to turn to know it was her sister, picking her way over the rocky terrain. “At the Circle. About the stars. They’re lovely tonight, aren’t they? But this story makes them seem so sad.”

“Why does everything have to be a fucking tragedy?” Violet asked in a quietly savage voice, her arms tightening around her knees.

“Not everything,” Persephone answered sadly. “Just you. There has to be sadness and darkness before you can truly know happiness, the light, right? So you have a bigger life, therefore your sadness has to be bigger. But that also means that your happiness will be bigger.”

Violet sniffed and scrubbed her eyes to dry the tears that were escaping. “That’s deep. Who’d you hear that from?”

Persephone smiled wryly. “Cole. But in far more...confusing words.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” Violet sighed. “Bit weird. But good.”

Persephone settled next to Violet, leaving a bit of space between them. “So is this about Hawke?”

Violet sighed again. It was, a bit. But also for every soldier they’d lost, and every Warden she’d cut down. Every person who had died since Corypheus blew up the Conclave. Her father. The news of her mother’s illness. It tore her up on the inside, all of it. If she tried harder, would things have worked out better? She snorted and finally answered Persephone. “I guess.”

“He was a good man, Violet, but you can’t blame yourself for his death,” Persephone told her. “He knew exactly what he was getting into when he came to Skyhold, when he agreed to assault Adamant with us. It could’ve been any of us who died. Me, or you, or Winona.”

“I know that,” Violet replied around the lump in her throat, trying to swallow back the tears that burned her eyes. “But...one of us  _ had _ to stay behind to ensure that the rest of us could live. I...it should’ve been me.”

“But it wasn’t,” Persephone said simply. “Can’t change that now. Hawke wouldn’t want you to mope forever. He’d want you to destroy Corypheus--no mercy.”

Violet lowered her head as she thought on Pers’s words. She often pushed herself in the training yard as she dreamed of killing Corypheus. But the actual prospect was rather terrifying.

“Melody wrote me,” Violet admitted in a soft tone. “Mother is dying. She fell ill after the Conclave.”

Persephone stiffened slightly. “Oh. I see. That’s...a pity.”

Violet eyed her sister carefully. “I’m not expecting you to be beside yourself with grief. I just wanted you to know. I’m going to be leaving to see her. You’re welcome to join me, if you’d like. I’ll take a few others, as well. Dorian, maybe. He is technically related, after all.”

There were several moments of silence. Persephone shifted and pulled her thick auburn hair over one shoulder, the same color as everyone else in her family’s. Violet was the odd one out, the medicine and healings for the scars on her back turning her hair nearly white. An odd side effect, but a welcomed one.

“Tell me that story about the stars,” Violet asked.

“It’s a love story,” Persephone told her with a smile. “A tragic one. Because those are always the best.”

“I like the ones where the two people in love get married and nobody dies and they all live happily ever after,” Violet grumbled, thinking of Cullen. She didn’t want their love story to end tragically.

“Shush,” Persephone chastised. “That’s not how this one goes.” She cleared her throat and adopted a more mysterious-sounding voice as she told her story. “Once, in a time long ago, under these same skies, there lived a princess. I forget her name, but that’s not important. She was a princess who lived in a beautiful castle. She was the king’s only child, his darling daughter. And every day he summoned suitors to woo her. But she rejected them, for she did not love them, and she would only marry for love.

“One day, as she sat in her tower, singing, a young soldier passed beneath her open window and heard her singing. He was immediately enchanted by her voice, and had to know who she was. He called up to her, and their eyes met, and they were instantly in love.”

“There’s no such thing as love at first sight,” Violet scoffed. “Attraction, but love takes time and commitment.”

“Oh, shut up, would you?” Persephone chastised, elbowing Violet. “I am telling a story that you  _ asked _ to hear. Anyway.

“They met in private for some time, falling deeper and deeper in love with each other. Finally, the princess went to her father and declared her love for the simple soldier, saying she would marry no one but he. Her father flew into a rage, infuriated that his daughter could love a peasant. His daughter was high-born, and would marry whom  _ he _ chose! So he locked her up in a tower, and she cried and wailed for her soldier.

“Not a month passed before her soldier was sent to die in battle. When she heard the news of her love’s death, she cried so desperately that the gods heard her, and were moved by her tears. She begged for them to take her soul, so they did, and raised her to the very heavens, where she became a star. But so great was her sorrow that the gods raised her lover’s soul as well, where he became a star opposite hers on the horizon, a sea of stars--the princess’s tears--separating them. They say that once she has cried enough, they may be reunited at last.”

“Maker’s breath,” Violet breathed, staring at the stars above her with tears in her eyes. “I’ll never seem them the same way.”

Persephone offered a half-smile. “It’s pretty sad. Beautiful, though. Don’t we all wish we could have a love so strong?”

Violet nodded, swiping away her tears. “Persephone...do I love Cullen? I mean, I think I do--even though he’s only just confessed that he cares for me. But...I’ve never allowed myself to grow close with someone like this since I was a teenager. And that time...it broke my heart.”

“What happened?” Persephone pressed softly.

A shrug. “Nothing really. It was one of the stablehands. I thought I was in love with him. I thought he saw me more as just a noble’s daughter. He showed me how to brush down the horses and all those things, and he was so gentle and kind. I just liked spending time with him. Mother told me to stop wasting his time, that I’d hurt him. I told her to mind her own business. I slept with the stablehand, mostly to piss off Mother. He was my first. I was his first, I think. It was…” She grimaced. “Messy. Embarrassing. I shouldn’t’ve...I wasn’t ready. But, well, the next morning, he wasn’t in my bed. I tried to approach him, but he wouldn’t talk to me--Mother had sacked him. He asked me why I never told him about my scars. I told him that they were none of his business. We argued. He was upset about it, said he wasn’t prepared for... _ that _ . He left, we never talked again. There’s my sad love story,” she finished with a snort, even though she was fighting tears.

Persephone reached out and rubbed circles into Violet’s back. “I’m sorry. That must’ve hurt.”

“It did,” Violet agreed on a sigh. “Not anymore. But I wonder what would’ve happened if I’d waited. Or if he’d stayed the night. Maybe, if I’d told him about the scars…. I just...I dallied with a lot of people after that, just for the affection. I’ll be honest, I don’t actually  _ like _ sex that much. It can be pleasant, but it feels so empty. Like, I want sex that doesn’t just feel like…’hey, you’re fuckable, might as well’, you know?”

“You just haven’t met the right person yet,” Persephone insisted. “Well, no you’ve met him.” She waggled her eyebrows at Violet, making the rogue blush. “Maybe love was the missing piece.”

“Don’t be all sappy,” Violet teased, shoving Persephone. “Next thing, you’ll be writing stories with Varric.  _ The Inquisitor and the Commander Fall in Love _ .”

Persephone snorted. “You and Cullen interact with each other so naturally, though. Everyone’s seen it for months. It’s the cutest thing in the world. We’re all just so surprised it took so long for you two to figure out.”

Violet blushed and sputtered. “You can’t rush these things!”

“Of course not,” Persephone said with a wink. “But you should go see him. He’s been really worried about you. I think he’s nervous to approach you, though, afraid he might overstep his boundaries.”

“He has nothing to be afraid of…” Violet mumbled, looking down as Persephone stood up, taking something out from within her jacket pocket. She uncapped it, and Violet saw that it was a flask, something foul within it wafting out. Typical

“He doesn’t know that!” Persephone teased, taking a swig before handing it to Violet. “I think he’s just as new to this as you are. So let him know you’re always  _ ready _ for him.”

“Oh, go harass someone else, would you?” Violet snapped without rancor, her lip quirking slightly as she sipped from the flask, the acrid alcohol searing her throat. Persephone stifled a snort and headed off back to camp. Violet hugged her knees tighter and tried not to feel selfish. Maybe it was their lack of communication over the last decade, but Violet felt that she knew very little about her sister’s personal life. Maybe Persephone wanted it that way? Maybe Violet was just a bad sister? She buried her face into her knees and took several deep breaths before rising to her feet, shaking the sand from her body.

After finishing off the flask, Violet found herself walking toward Cullen’s tent. She knew she shouldn’t, that he was stressed and busy, but she craved the comfort of intimacy. Her better judgment was clouded by the alcohol in her blood, but she tried not to think too hard about that. She paused outside his tent, the glow of candles seeping under the flaps. She brushed back the canvas and stepped inside, eyeing Cullen, hunched over the desk.

He glanced up, eyes softening when he saw her. “Violet. I’ve been worried about you. Is everything alright?”

Her cheeks were already pink from the alcohol, but she felt them heat further. She wasn’t used to the objects of her affections showing concern. Caring. “Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing a little liquor couldn’t fix.”

She grinned at him, but he just furrowed his brows, straightening up and fixing a look on her. “That’s not exactly a healthy habit, Violet. I know you’re grieving over Hawke, but alcohol--”

“Could we please skip the lecture?” Violet snapped, folding her arms to mirror Cullen. Any levity she’d mustered dissipated with Cullen’s condescending tone. “I’m not a child. I can make my own choices.”

“I understand that, but you have to realize that your choices affect more than just you,” Cullen replied in a tight voice. “They affect your friends and family. All of Thedas. The entire world. Future generations.”

Violet snorted. “Yes, yes, like I could forget for even a few blissful minutes that I’ve got the entire fucking universe on my shoulders. Tsk, tsk, bad Violet. Thinking she can relax after  _ walking through a literal nightmare _ .”

Cullen scowled, then took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Violet. You know I--I care for you. I don’t want to chastise you--”

“So don’t!”

“--but you’re acting rather immature,” he finished as if she hadn’t spoken.

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She gaped at Cullen for a moment, almost unable to believe that  _ he _ had actually had the  _ gall _ to call her  _ immature _ ! He had no idea what she was going through.  _ He _ hadn’t watched his sister kill their father.  _ He _ hadn’t walked physically through the Fade and had to sacrifice a friend.  _ He _ hadn’t nearly died in an avalanche to save Haven’s villagers.  _ He _ didn’t have to face off with Corypheus.

A mirthless laugh spilled from Violet’s lips. She fixed a glare at Cullen and narrowed her eyes at him as he nervously met her eyes. “Fuck you, Cullen Rutherford. Don’t you  _ ever _ patronize me. Don’t you  _ ever _ deign to speak to me like that, like I’m some sort of, of, of--truant! Just do your fucking job and command the army. Other than that, keep your opinions to yourself. You’re not here to judge me.”

With that, she turned on her heel, the hurt and anger and regret on his face feeding a fierce and sick pleasure.

Violet stumbled back into her own tent, plopping down in front of her bag and pulling out her own flask, which she had steadfastly been avoiding. She didn’t want to be dependent on the liquid within, like she knew so many warriors became. But right now, she didn’t really care. She gulped down the antiseptic-like drink, coughing a little. Then she took another swig, and another, before capping it. She stared at it as she felt tears burning her eyes, and then she was crying, the tears gushing from her eyes.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” Violet cursed as she pulled her knees up to her chin, legs wrapped around them. Why did she always do that? Why did she always manage to fuck up every relationship? She’d found herself thinking,  _ Maybe things with Cullen could be different. More _ . But he’d made it clear that he didn’t think the same thing. He thought she was  _ immature _ . That she didn’t take the Inquisition seriously, just because she got drunk on occasion. He felt the need to lecture her, like he was her parent. It made her feel sick. He said he cared for her--but maybe the age gap between them was too much. Maybe he couldn’t look past the fact that she was seven years his junior, even if he wanted to.

She shouldn’t have thought she could ever have more. Some people just weren’t meant for it. For a relationship that meant more than just sex. For  _ mutual respect _ . She wondered if the other advisors, people she had come to see as friends, thought of her the same way Cullen did. That they saw her as a burdensome whelp.

***

She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but she awoke on the cold ground, a headache pounding behind her eyes. Her tongue felt like sandpaper and her breath tasted like literal shit. Upon looking at herself in the small mirror she’d brought, she groaned; her eyes were still red and puffy from crying all night. The kohl around her eyes was smudged. Her hair was a rat’s nest and coated in sand and dirt.

She tried to make herself presentable before seeking out Cassandra. She showed her the letter from her family and the letter from Josephine and told her in no uncertain terms that she was leaving immediately to visit her family. She would take Blackwall, Dorian, and Cole, and Persephone if she wanted to come, and would return to Skyhold when she felt ready to. Blessedly, the stark warrior did not comment on her dishevelment or the scent of stale alcohol clinging her to skin.

Within an hour, her horse was saddled, the bags packed and strapped on. Her other companions met her by the mouth of the road leading through the countryside of Orlais. As she mounted her Forder, she saw Cullen approach the edge of the camp. For a moment, Violet thought he would try to stop her, apologize. But he just watched. Before she could lose her nerve and slink back to him, she turned away, nodding to her companions. In a cloud of dust, Violet and her friends were off to Ostwick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd.


	17. The Proud House of Trevelyan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the Trevelyan family has many, many issues. And no one wants to deal with any of them.

Violet and her companions rode hard, though she tried not to strain them or their mounts. When they trotted into Val Royeaux, finishing the first leg of the trip, Violet felt sure she would simply dissolve into a bundle of nerves and second-guessing.

She hadn’t talked to her mother since before the Conclave. She and her mother were civil on the best of days, and on the worst of days, their arguments could be heard all over the estate grounds. The latter far outnumbered the former.

Violet had been going to the Conclave on behalf of her family, as much as her mother begged her not to. No, not begged. She outright forbade Violet from attending. They would send one of the more senior servants to the Conclave. The rumors of all the possible assassinations--or worse--had driven Lady Trevelyan to keeping all her eggs in one basket. Violet, Pudge, and Neeley were all home. Arthur, Solomon, and Melody were in their respective estates, safe from all the unrest in the South.

So after nearly two weeks of not talking to her mother, Violet had left in the middle of the night for the tiny village of Haven so she could attend the Conclave.

Despite their rather acrimonious relationship, Violet  _ did _ love her mother. They  _ could _ get along--if they didn’t talk to each other. Which was easier said than done when they lived in the same dwelling, had their meals together as a family, and Lady Trevelyan paid for all of Violet’s belongings. The one good thing about the Breach was that it gave Violet an escape route.

The party of five stopped by an inn for the night. The proprietor was tripping over himself when he saw the Inquisition heraldry on the horses that had arrived so late in the evening. The stars were concealed overhead by a thick blanket of clouds, the moon glowing eerily through a thin break. The horses were unsaddled and brushed down by a few tousled stable hands who had obviously been sleeping just moments before.

“Your Worship!” the man said in a heavy Orlesian accent. Violet was pleasantly surprised to see his face was uncovered by those silly masks Orlesians so adored. “I was not expecting you! No worries, though, we have rooms for you and your companions, right this way--would you like baths drawn? Dinner brought up?”

“Er--yes, please,” Violet said, forcing herself back to the present as two servants rushed forward, taking the party’s bags and leading them up a flight of stairs. The establishment was quiet, with only the occasional snoring coming from a room. But the silence was not laden with fear and sorrow like Violet had grown used to. Their victory at Adamant must have already reached the ears of Val Royeaux. Had her family heard? Did they know she was coming?

There were five empty bedrooms on the third floor. Violet was grateful that she did not have to share a tent with anyone this night, like she had for the last week. They would rest for the night, then wake up bright and early to secure passage on a ship headed off into the Waking Sea that would make port in Ostwick. If they were lucky, it would shave nearly ten days off their journey.

“Violet,” Persephone said, pausing by the entrance to Violet’s room. “Are you okay?”

Violet frowned. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Don’t worry about me, Pers. You’re the one that  _ I _ should be looking out for. Are you okay with seeing the family again after all this time?”

Persephone was a bit caught off guard by the question. “Er--I’ll be alright. What can they do, chase me away with pitchforks and torches?”

Violet smiled softly. “Exactly, champ. Now get some sleep. I remember  _ last _ time we were on a boat together.”

Persephone grimaced. “Don’t remind me.” Then she smiled at her sister. “Goodnight, Vi.”

“Goodnight, Pers.” Violet disappeared into her room before anyone else could try and psychoanalyze her.

“Confused, hurt, longing,” a voice said from the corner of the room. Violet yelped and jumped, falling against the door.

“Maker’s breath, Cole!” Violet swore, hand over her heart. “Please, announce your presence in a  _ previously empty room _ differently next time. Like knocking. On the door. From the outside.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I wanted to help. You seem so...on edge, like a string holding a druffalo, but the string is fraying and doesn’t know how much longer it can hold on. You don’t want the others to ask, to know, to try and help--but I can help, Violet.”

Violet suppressed a sigh. “Cole, that’s all very kind of you, but I really don’t need your help. What I need is a good night sleep.”

“She is worried, you know,” Cole said as Violet set down her bag. “Persephone. She sees it in your eyes. The anxiety. She doesn’t like her either.”

“Who, Cole?” Violet asked on a breath out, crossing her arms. “ _ Who _ doesn’t Persephone like?”

Cole’s nearly transparent blue eyes met her own emerald ones. “Your mother. She has sad memories of her. Getting smacked across the face for stealing a sweetroll from the baker, a willow switch to her bottom for lying. Always, it was your mother that dealt out the punishment. Your father never wanted to. Is that fair? For her to be painted as the villain in your memories?”

“She had her choice, Cole,” Violet ground out, clenching her hands behind her back. “We all do. In the end, we are alone in our choices.”

“Her choice,” Cole agreed, nodding. “But it’s yours, too.”

“What do you mean?” Violet pressed, not drawing closer. The room still lay between them, a chasm. Violet had not interacted much with Cole at Skyhold. She had trouble finding him. Maybe she didn’t try hard enough.

“Everything,” he replied ambiguously.

Violet sighed in exasperation. “Right. Of course. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m rather tired and would like to take my bath and go to sleep.”

Cole stood up. “I didn’t help.”

“No, Cole, that’s not it,” Violet insisted. “Not everyone wants help, though. I don’t think this is something that you can just--” She waved her hand around. “You can’t just peek in my mind and speak so...mysteriously and think that it’ll help. It’s a lot more complicated.”

Cole stared at Violet hard for a few minutes, unblinkingly. When Violet was about to tell him again to leave, he spoke. “It’s him, too. He’s strong, feels like safety and security, but you don’t know how to love. You chase him away because...you’re scared. Last time you let someone in, he hurt you.”

Violet tried to interrupt. “Cole--”

“He was hurt too,” Cole finished softly.

Violet bit her lip, tears stinging her eyes. “Please. Cole. I don’t want to ask you again. Please leave.”

Cole started to head for the door, but when he reached Violet, he stopped. He was taller than her, gangly and all arms and legs. For a moment, Violet thought he was going to spew more shit about her complicated emotional status, but he just reached forward. Violet stiffened, until she realized he was going for a hug. With a gentle “oh,” Violet pulled him tight to her, wrapping her arms around his back and burying her face in his shoulder as the tears fell.

“It’s okay,” Cole said quietly.

Violet stood there with Cole for a long time until the tears stopped. She sniffled, her mouth dry and a headache forming behind her eyes. “Thanks, Cole.”

He nodded, and then he was gone. Violet was alone in her room once more. She sighed and scrubbed at her face with her sleeve before stripping off her leather armor, standing barefoot in her tunic and breeches. The room was less opulent than what Violet would expect of Orlesians. Then again, it wasn’t a very high-end inn.

There was a knock at the door. Violet answered it to see a timid-looking girl with tousled brown curls holding a laden tray. Violet smiled at her and the girl looked down, taking a step in and heading to the small table in the corner of the room. She placed the tray down on the surface and then curtsied before rushing out of the room.

Violet picked at the chunk of that morning’s bread, slightly stale and cold. The cooked vegetables looked weepy and soggy, and the sliced meat seemed to tiptoe the line of “mystery.” Violet grimaced as she pushed the food around with a tarnished fork, finding that she wasn’t much hungry anymore.

She prayed that the bath she awaited was a few shades better than the meal.

***

Violet had forgotten how much she dreaded sea travel. Once she had boarded the ship, standing on the planks that seemed to wobble uncertainly below her feet, it all came rushing back. Last time she’d been aboard a ship was before the Conclave. Now, she remembered the nausea and the moaning and hunching over the railing.

Dorian clapped her back. “Is the pirate’s life not for ye?” he asked mockingly.

Violet flipped him off as one of the sailors took her paltry bags and stored them below decks. Violet leaned against the railing, sure her face was greener than her eyes. Dorian laughed as he  _ swaggered _ away, looking so at ease on the vessel.

Persephone bounded past her with Blackwall, pointing out all the different odds and ends that made up the ship. Violet had never knew her sister knew about nautical life. She seemed to know exactly what the sailors were going to do when they were ready to leave port. But it made sense, didn’t it? Persephone had been locked up in the Ostwick Circle nearly half her life. Wouldn’t she crave the freedom that sailing on the open sea provided?

Violet reached into her pocket for the letter from her sister. She wondered, not the for the first time, if she would be too late. There wasn’t anything she could do for her mother that hadn’t already been attempted, but she felt an obligation to be there. Even if it were just to ward off the guilt that would come if she didn’t go.

She squinted out at the horizon, the sun bright and harsh in her eyes. She thought that if she looked hard enough, she could see Ostwick at the other side. Maker, she was going home, if only for a few days. She never realized how much she missed the Free Marches. But she knew that her place was at Skyhold, knitting Thedas back together one crisis at a time, with her friends by her side.

***

Exhaustion made Violet irritable by the time they reached the Ostwick gates. The streets were rather different than their sister city’s, Kirkwall. Where Kirkwall had once been a slave trading port and still held ghastly memories of that time within its high walls, Ostwick was more…”rural”, in a way. The docks were the center of trade, and the city sprawled out from it. The open-air market was only a few blocks from the dock, which was very convenient for sailors. There were inns and taverns and shops all around.

They hired a for-rent carriage with fake gilded detailing and faux-velvet seats. It was cheap, cramped, but Violet, Persephone, Cole, Dorian, and Blackwall were able to squeeze in with their bags, even if Dorian did piss and moan the whole ride to the Trevelyan estate.

To the east were the slums and the alienage, where Violet had rarely ever travelled by herself. To the west was their own version of Kirkwall’s Hightown, the Garden District. It was called thus because of the sprawling estates and teeming gardens outside each one. It was opulent and beautiful and a constant back-and-forth between the nobles of “mine’s bigger than yours.” This was also where the viscount’s Keep was.

Directly north was Ostwick’s Circle Tower. It loomed above them over the river, empty and alone. No mages were held within, no Templars guarded it. It was a ghost of a torturous past, a tale of sadness and desperation. Persephone seemed to shrink somewhat under its imposing stature.

“Been awhile, hasn't it?” Violet commented softly. 

Persephone shivered. “Yeah. I told myself, if I ever have to return to that tower, it’d be too soon.”

The trundled on into the Garden District, each towering estate looming over them. The clusters of bright blooms seemed to choke the party with their overpowering perfume. The harsh colors were blinding and the rows of blossoms were too orderly, too perfect.

Violet grimaced when she saw, set on expansive grounds, the Trevelyan estate sitting at the end of the lane. Wrought iron gates stood sentry before the manor, a single armored man guarding it. He straightened up when he saw the unfamiliar carriage approach.

The carriage came to a stop and Violet jumped out, dressed in a plain tunic and breeches. She approached the guard, a slight smile playing about her lips and the familiar face. Many a time, he had caught her sneaking in or out of the manor at ungodly times of the night.

“Miss Trevelyan!” he started, looking flabbergasted. “I--the lady of the house is out currently. But I'm sure she would want me to let you and…” He glanced as Dorian clambered from the carriage to stretch. “...your companions inside. Right this way. I'll send someone down to collect your luggage.”

His last statement came out as a question. It didn't appear even a single trunk could have fit in the carriage, much less enough for five people. Violet nodded and the guard led them up the walk to the house.

“Davey, you said my mother was out?” Violet began. “I received a letter from my sister telling me that Mother was gravely ill. Is she at...an appointment with a physician?”

The guard Davey could not have appeared more bewildered. “Your mother? Sick? Perish the thought! She's as vivacious and energetic as ever!”

Violet frowned and dug out the letter Melody had written her. Its meaning was clear as day: Alina Trevelyan was dying and wanted to see her daughter. Violet frowned as she studied the penmanship. So it had more flourishes than her sister’s usual handwriting. That didn’t mean anything.

“I see” was all she said in reply as they entered the foyer.

Davey led them to the parlor. “You must be hungry. I'll send for the kitchens to supply refreshments.”

Violet nodded vaguely. She opened one of the cabinets lining the wall and moved aside books and trinkets before retrieving a flask of whiskey that she’d hidden there since she was fourteen. She took a hearty swig before passing it to Persephone, then plopped down on one of the hand-painted settees. After taking a long sip, Persephone passed the metal flask back to her sister, and Violet downed the rest of its contents in a few gulps.

“So, Inquisitor, where is this deathly ill mother of yours?” Dorian asked casually, poking at a box of snuff sitting on a low table.

“That is an excellent question, Dorian!” Violet exclaimed in a false-cheery voice, a plastic smile stretching her face. “I, for one, am very much looking forward to finding out.”

Cole sat next to Violet, but did not say anything, thankfully. Blackwall leaned against the wall, eyeing the flowery wallpaper warily. Persephone was looking at the paintings lining the walls of her family members--one of which were conspicuously missing.

“Could this be some sort of trap?” Blackwall inquired, running a finger over a carved rocking horse sitting on the floor. “A forged letter that your mother is sick in order to lure you away from the Inquisition?”

Violet contemplated this as she rooted through the cabinets for more alcohol. She grinned when she found a decanter of brandy. Ignoring the glasses that sat next to it on a tray, she uncorked the glass bottle and took a swig. “I doubt it. The handwriting is probably my mother’s. But  _ why _ ? That’s what I want to know.”

Dorian sank onto the settee and crossed his legs, arms spread along the back. “This is certainly an interesting introduction to my--what?--great-aunt? Aunt seven times removed? Who can keep track of those fickle familial ties?”

Violet snorted and sat down next to him, confused as to where Cole had disappeared off to. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll positively love her.”

A moment later, there was a knock at the door. Violet called for whoever it was to enter, hoping for the kitchen staff to already have a tray of food prepared. Instead, in strode Lady Alina Trevelyan, her cheeks flushed pink. Her auburn hair was piled delicately atop her head, her green eyes flashing angrily. Her cheekbones were high and regal, her lips full but set in a stern line. Her clothes were fine-spun silk and embroidered in lace and gold thread. She was not very tall, but the way she held herself made her seem to tower above everyone else in the room.

Violet glared daggers at the woman who looked uncannily like herself--save for the hair--refusing to show her the proper respect by rising, curtsying, and avoiding prolonged eye contact. Alina stood there with her head held high, refusing to be cowed by her daughter. Violet finished off the brandy and dropped it on the marble floor, letting it shatter and the shards fly over the surface. Alina barely flinched.

“Mother!” Violet greeted with a cool warmth. “It’s amazing to see you not literally dying.”

Alina crossed her arms carefully, pursing her rosy lips. “So you received my letter, yes?”

“Oh,  _ yours _ ?” Violet asked exaggeratedly, gritting her teeth as she felt the anger and resentment simmering in her gut and somewhere along her spine. “I was under the impression that Melody had written me! So was the whole letter a lie,  _ Mother _ ?”

Alina huffed. “Really, Violet, must you be so melodramatic?” She picked up a bell sitting on a nearby sidetable and rang it twice. Almost instantly, an elven girl rushed in with a rag, bending to clean up Violet’s mess.

“What else should I be, then, Mother?” Violet asked, throwing her arms out wide. “The obedient, dull, Maker-fucking daughter you never got?”

The first crack appeared in Alina’s carefully crafted mask of cool indifference. “Language, Violet,” she snapped. “I will not have you speak in such a way in my house.”

“Fuck, piss, shit!” Violet yelled. “Fuck the Maker!”

Alina tutted, folding her hands in front of her. “Still so childish, Violet. I had hoped maybe this Inquisition business would mature you somewhat.”

The jab hit a little too close to home. Violet gritted her teeth tightly and balled her fists, remembering Cullen’s words to her. “Oh, I’m so sorry that I’m not acting up to your standards, Mother. I’ll keep that in mind next time a mountain is dropped on top of me, or the next time I walk bodily through the Fade and face off with a Nightmare demon.”

Alina’s face paled slightly. “Violet…”

“Don’t.” Violet held up her hand. “You act like you’re so worried about me, but what about Persephone? She’s gone through all this  _ with _ me. And you act like she doesn’t exist!”

Alina’s eyes swiveled to Persephone, who looked like she was trying to melt into the wall. Violet frowned at the submissive stance of her sister. It seemed like ever since they’d made up, all the hatred had seeped out of the mage. Violet hadn’t really realized until she saw the way her sister cowed beneath the glower of their mother.

Lady Trevelyan’s face warped into one of distrust and anger. “I should welcome the daughter that killed my husband? I think not.”

“She never killed Father!” Violet screamed, the anger bubbling up her throat with her voice, searing as it went. Tears burned her eyes as she faced off with her mother. “Father was  _ ambushed! _ You know that! A bandit tried to kill  _ me _ , and Father jumped in front of his blade to save me. If anyone is responsible for his death, it’s me! Not Persephone.  _ Never _ Persephone.”

Alina looked like she’d been slapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, you fool girl.”

“I do know!” Violet lashed out, grabbing a small, ornately painted plate from the shelf on the wall and hurling it at the wall. “I saw it all again, Mother. A demon dug into my brain and replayed it for me. Tell me, why was Father transporting explosives?” Violet advanced a step on her mother. “Can’t have been legal. Is that why you were so adamant on blaming Persephone? Her sudden powers would be a wonderful cover story for why the entire entourage was killed out in what appeared to be an explosion.”

Alina rose taller and there was fire in her eyes as she beheld her daughter. She raised a hand and smacked Violet across the face, making her head wrench to the side. Violet blinked and looked at her mother, cheek stinging. She blinked tears from her eyes. “You don’t understand,” Alina Trevelyan hissed. “Our family could be  _ ruined _ if anyone knew. Do you hate me so much that you would doom your siblings to a life of poverty or imprisonment?”

Violet blinked again and took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“I  _ mean _ that yes, your father was transporting illegal explosives,” Alina snapped. “And there’s much about the foundation of this family you will  _ never _ understand.”

Violet turned away, touching her cheek gently and wishing she had more booze. “Wait--so what does this have to do with you calling me home?”

Alina lifted her head with a haughty sniff. “Does a mother need a reason to see her daughter?”

Violet stiffened. “Tell me, Mother. Before things get messy.”

The woman seemed to deflate. “Your youngest brother has run off with his elven lover, joining his Clan. I--I’ve been keeping tabs on him. Clan Lavellan.” The name was a curse on her tongue. “And...they’ve been attacked by a group of well-armed bandits. I’ve contacted the owner of the land, but he’s done nothing. You must protect Pudge.”

Violet pinched the bridge of her nose. “You could have said that in a letter.”

Alina took several steps toward Violet, tentatively placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. “I’ve heard the feats you’ve accomplished. Scarcely believable a single person could do such.”

“I’m not alone,” Violet insisted.

“Still.” Her mother’s voice was soft. “Seeing is believing, yes?”

“So I’m here to fuel your pride,” Violet guessed, stepping away. Before her mother could reply, Violet cut her off. “You  _ lied _ to bring me here. You insult me and my blood, you drop a bombshell on me, you--” Violet made a frustrated noise. “I  _ know _ that the family never expected me to become anything more than a sell-sword, if that. You don’t have the  _ right _ to be proud of me. I made my  _ own _ way, with my  _ own _ strength. I don’t need you.”

Violet turned on her heel and stormed through the door, nearly colliding with a frazzled woman carrying a tray. Violet ignored her mumbled apologies and stalked through the foyer and to Davey. “Our bags, Davey. And send someone to call for a carriage. My party and I are leaving.”

The poor man seemed bewildered, but nodded, jumping to action. Violet stood in the burning heat of the Free Marches sun, glad when her mother did not follow her. Instead, her companions followed her, seeming concerned but not opening their mouths to comment. Violet was grateful for the silence, no matter how oppressive.

Within a half hour, there was a carriage plodding into their view, and their bags were being loaded on it. Violet swung herself up and in, followed by Persephone, Dorian, Cole, and Blackwall. Violet told the driver to bring them to the nearest tavern, ignoring the looks of worry her friends were exchanging. The only thing she cared about at the moment was getting as drunk as possible, and perhaps disgracing the Trevelyan name in the process.


	18. Feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ. I am so sorry for taking such a long, unannounced Hiatus. But going to school in a new country with a new language and a new currency and an entirely different culture is not very...easy. So I've only just had time where I feel motivation and creativity to write. So, to reward your long wait, I give you smut. And a lot of emotions. Hence the name of this chapter. Enjoy.

Violet had arrived back in Skyhold earlier that week, but had been showing up late to every meeting so far, her eyes bloodshot and her hair a mess. On top of that, she was the first to leave, barely contributing anything to planning their strategy for Halamshiral. She was reticent, and if Cullen could stop staring at her, he wouldn’t have known she was there at all. Maybe it was the withdrawal speaking, maybe it was the muscle crampings and the headaches and the dry mouth and inability to  _ think _ , but Cullen suspected that Violet may be avoiding him.

He couldn’t focus on the report swimming before his eyes. He couldn’t focus on much of anything, not since returning from Adamant. The stress was biting at his nerves, nipping at his ankles, and yelping in his ears. The lack of lyrium only made things harder. A headache had taken up permanent residency behind his eyes, a throb that thrummed with the anger of a mother High Dragon protecting her young. He knew his temperature was running higher than average as well, making him sweat and shiver and sweat and shiver. His limbs ached like he’d carried the entire Inquisition army back from the Western Approach on his own shoulders. And when he tried to sleep the pain away, he was met with gruesome nightmares. Sometimes, he watched the destruction of Haven over and over. Other times, Violet never came back from the Rift in Adamant. And still other times, a desire demon toyed with him, torturing him with the woman he loved and chased away with his careless words.

Once the army had returned to Skyhold, he’d gone to talk to the bartender of the Herald’s Rest. Cabot was the name of the surly dwarf who seemed to read people expertly. Cullen tried to be subtle in his inquiries about their Inquisitor, but Cabot saw right through him and gave it to him straight: Violet was in the tavern nearly every night that she was in Skyhold, and she was usually among the last of the patrons to leave.

That didn’t mean  _ anything _ , though, Cullen thought. She could just enjoy the social atmosphere. The music and dancing. Maybe she was just playing a friendly game of cards with Varric and the Iron Bull. Even though Cabot rattled off the drinks Violet usually ordered, and in her order of favorite to least favorite, Cullen shook his head, not ready to believe.

Who was he to judge someone with an addiction?

He stood hunched over his desk, the thrum of the bustle of Skyhold beating in his ears in time with his heartbeat. His hands were flattened against the surface, wrists aching, mouth dry and sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip. The papers in front of him were blurry, but the simple wooden box sitting atop it with the carved likeness of Andraste was crystal clear.

Maker, why did he chase away everyone he wanted to draw closer? He’d pushed his siblings away, he’d pushed Winona Amell away, he distanced himself from every relationship in Kirkwall. And now he’d alienated Violet. The first woman in years that he had thought to let in. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, or to call her immature. She was anything but. She was fierce and loyal and kind. She stood up to her enemies with a straight back, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders. He respected her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to be someone she could lean on.

He gazed at the familiar tools within the modest box. He ran gloved fingers over the vial of lyrium crystals and felt his blood yearn for it. His eyes widened and he licked his lips. Just one drop. Just a taste, that’s all he needed, then he’d  _ really _ be done. He needed it. He needed it. He was useless without it, just the shell of a bitter man with a penchant for battlefield strategies. How could he help Violet when he could barely help himself? By the Maker,  _ he needed it _ .

His breathing was labored as he took it up in his hands, and with a roar he hurled it with all his might at the wall opposite him. It shattered against the wall, splinters flying everywhere, leaving a rather stunned-looking Inquisitor standing in the open doorway next to the spot at which he’d flung the box.

Cullen gasped in shock when he saw her, pain lancing up through his torso. “Maker’s breath! I did not see you, Violet...I…” He took a deep breath that made his headache flare. “Forgive me.”

Violet stood uncertainly, hands tangled together in front of her. Looking at her, Cullen felt like the Maker had truly sent her to ease his pain. She was a beacon of light and calm and beauty in such an ugly, painful world. And he’d lashed out at her again.

Maybe it was better if she had nothing to do with him.

“Cullen,” Violet said tentatively, and he could hear the rasp of her voice like she hadn’t slept well in days. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her jaw was tight, but she took a tentative step forward anyway. “Is something wrong? Do you want to talk?”

“You don’t have to,” Cullen said and shook his head as he tried to take a step forward, but his leg spasmed and he nearly collapsed, catching himself on his desk. Humiliation burned through his veins. He was supposed to be in his prime, in top physical condition, but here he was, barely able to stand on his own.  _ She deserves better _ .  _ Someone who doesn’t call her childish. _

His head was lowered, but he heard her soft footsteps as she approached. She was freshly bathed. She smelled like jasmine and lavender. She reached out a hand and touched his arm tentatively, the heat of her hand scorching through the fabric of his tunic. “I never meant for this to interfere,” he said as he shook her off, ignoring the glint of hurt in her misty green eyes.

“Are you going to be okay?” Violet asked, drawing back a step and folding her arms across her chest. A wall between them.

“Yes,” Cullen replied immediately. Then he sighed, his tense shoulders slacking. “I don’t know.”

He straightened up and looked at Violet. “You asked me once about what happened at the Ferelden Circle. It was overtaken by abominations. The Templars-- _ my friends _ \--were slaughtered.” There was a savage undertone to his voice that surprised even himself. He turned away from Violet and stared out the dark window instead, his heart racing and his head pounding. He’d never talked to anyone of that time. He couldn’t believe he’d found  _ someone _ that he finally felt would understand him, and he’d pushed her away. He didn’t want her to see him as weak, or broken. But he feared that that was all he was anymore. A shell of a man.

“I was tortured,” he continued, voice hollow as he remembered the energy cage he’d been imprisoned within as desire demons taking the shape of Winona Amell had assaulted his mind. How she’d spoken to him, touched him, caressed him. How he’d been okay with it--wanted it, even--until he would remember that he had chased away the real Winona, hurt her just like he’d hurt Violet. Then the illusion would disappear, and he’d be left with nothing but self-loathing and the broken bodies of his dead comrades. “They tried to break my mind, and I--how can you be the same person after that?

“Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness.” He glanced to Violet briefly and saw her hands knotted in front of her. “Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets.” He turned to face her fully, his voice a rasping growl, heavy with anger and hate and regret. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

Violet shifted, forcing her hands down by her sides. “I  _ do _ understand, Cullen. I--”

“ _ Don’t _ ,” he hissed, scowling at a spot on the floor in front of Violet’s shuffling feet. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.” He walked toward her, standing in front of her, rubbing his temples. Wanting to reach out and feel her beneath his hands. “I thought this would be better, that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won’t  _ leave me _ …” He started pacing back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching in front of his pained and pinched face. His eyes were wide with fear and anxiety, his lips twitching as he spoke. “How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause! I will  _ not _ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it…!” He punctuated this by slamming his fist into the bookshelf, a few books cascading down, but he barely saw them. They lay open on the dusty floor, staring at him. His voice softened. “I should be taking it.”

Violet drew closer to him, sliding her hand over his gloved one on the bookshelf. The warmth of her felt so good, so right, he just wanted to melt into her touch. How could she still care about him when he’d spoken to her so carelessly? How could he believe that he was the only one dealing with this tremendous stress? How could he impose his own insecurities and fears onto this incredibly strong and independent woman?

“Is that what you want?” Violet asked, her voice so soft and gentle it felt like a blanket being lain softly around his shoulders. It felt like home. He felt himself relax under her touch. “Do you want to go back on lyrium?”

A moment passed and Cullen’s fist unclenched. “No,” he sighed. Violet’s fingers twined with his, and he squeezed her hand gently. “But...these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse--if I cannot endure this…”

Violet squeezed back, meeting his golden gaze with her vibrant green. “You  _ can _ ,” she said with such confidence that Cullen almost believed her.

He sighed again, straightening up slightly. “Alright.” He looked to their linked hands and pressed them to his lips, a soft kiss to the back of her hand. “Violet...last we spoke, we didn’t...we didn’t end on a, a happy note.”

Violet lowered her head, making to take a step back, but Cullen did not let go of her hand. “I remember,” she mumbled. “And if you...decided that you don’t want...um,  _ this _ between us to continue, I understand. I respect that. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still help you as my friend, Cullen.”

Cullen shook his head. “I want you still, Violet. That is, if you’ll have me. I know I said some...horribly insensitive things--I didn’t pause to think about what you’d faced, but--”

He was cut off mid-apology as Violet closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. Her calloused hands cupped his stubbled cheeks, thumbs brushing his skin softly. Cullen felt himself wanting to melt into the kiss, to forget everything--withdrawal, Violet’s recent excursion and her subsequent downward spiral, Corypheus, all the paperwork sitting on his desk--but he had to acknowledge that if those things were not dealt with first, there would be no relationship to forge.

He pulled away from Violet, opening his eyes, watching as confusion and a dash of hurt flickered over her face and her hands fell to her sides. “Did you not...want that?”

Cullen shook his head, reaching for one of her hands and holding it in his own gloved one. “No, it was perfect. But...tell me what happened with your mother. I feel like we’ve only been talking about my trials.”

Violet raised her brows, then barked out a mirthless laugh. “Oh. Nothing really. She’s just revealed how much of a lying, manipulative, conniving bitch she really is. She was never actually sick. She forged a fucking letter to manipulate me into visiting the estate because she--she’s  _ lonely _ . Because all her kids hate her because she’s a fucking bitter-as-the-Void bitch.”

Cullen blinked in surprise; Violet bit her lip and cast her eyes downward. “Oh.” He opened his mouth and shut it again before speaking. “How’s Persephone taking this?”

Violet sighed and perched on his desk. “She’s pissed off as well, understandably so. Hurt, too. Mother made it rather clear that she sees Persephone as nothing more than a mistake.”

Cullen rested his hand on Violet’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, love.”

Violet shrugged and sighed. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” She shifted and leaned forward, switching subjects. “Now, have you eaten yet today? I hope you weren’t abusing your meals while I was away.”

Cullen smiled softly. “Dinner should be around soon.”

“Good. Now take off that armor, Commander.” Violet snickered at Cullen’s sudden blushing. “I didn’t mean it like that, dummy. It must be exhausting to have to wear it all the time. Right now, you should be relaxing.”

“Violet--” he tried to stop her, but she pushed him into his chair and stepped out of his grasp. He didn’t like that she was avoiding talking about what happened. Maybe she just wasn’t ready, but coupled with what Cabot had told him, he was more than a bit worried. He promised himself that he was not going to let her stew forever.

Once she’d made sure Cullen was indeed removing his heavy-plate armor, Violet made to leave, but Cullen stood up and reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Plucking up his courage, he swallowed and met her eyes. “Stay with me? The night? Please?”

Violet blinked. For a terrifying moment, he thought she would say no. Which was her choice, of course, but he really felt that he needed her. Not sexually, not if she didn’t want that. Just to be there. She was the only person whom he felt he could trust with the burden that was his emotional past, and he wanted to let her in. For the first time since Kinloch, he wanted to let someone in.

She smiled warmly, her cheeks turning pink. “Of course.”

Cullen sat back down in the chair behind his desk, the one that Violet had put there herself as a surprise while he’d been doing drills with his soldiers a few months ago. Violet perched beside him on the desk, and Cullen couldn’t help watching her movements with rapt attention. She picked up one of his reports like she had when he’d first told her of his lyrium withdrawal. Just being near her, Cullen felt...more at ease. His headache was still there, his limbs ached, his vision was still blurry--but she made him feel a bit like it would all pass soon.

“Violet,” Cullen said softly, touching her knee. She peeled her eyes from the report to his hand and then to his face, a single eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth quirked. “I truly do care for you a lot--more than is wise. You’re...very important to me. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Her gaze softened and he slid his arms around her waist to pull her closer and hug her. She ran her fingers through the curls of his lowered head. She tugged lightly until he looked up at her and she tilted his head up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I feel the same, Cullen.”

He smiled up at her, the pain in his head subsiding momentarily. Whatever the forces were that tossed Violet Trevelyan into his life, he didn't know or care. He was just glad they had.

***

It wasn't exactly a healthy habit, being the last person in Skyhold to retire to bed and also being the first to rise in the morning. Even though he had retire to bed early because he had asked Violet to stay with him, Cullen lay awake, staring through the partially thatched hole in his ceiling. There were no stars visible on that cloudy night, just the fuzzy outline of the moon. At least his headache had subsided.

“What do you do when it rains or snows?” a voice asked Cullen suddenly.

He started and glanced over at Violet, who was watching him as she bit her lip to suppress her laughter. Cullen chuckled and looked back to the ceiling, then to Violet again. “I move my bed a few feet over.”

Violet gave him an admonishing look. “Oh? And what about when the snow melts? I suppose you move your office a few feet over as well?”

He snorted. “You've caught me.”

“Why haven't you gotten it fixed, Cullen?” Violet asked, rolling to her side and propping her head up with a hand, elbow bent on her pillow. “Do you enjoy pneumonia?” When he just laughed, she added, “We have the supplies.”

He shook his head. “I like the sky and the fresh air.”

Violet seemed surprised at this. “You know, my quarters have these huge windows lining the wall, and glass doors leading out on the balcony. When they're open at night, it's almost as if you've got a giant hole in your ceiling. Except people don't think you're as insane.”

“Are you inviting me to your quarters, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked boldly, grinning.

“You have a standing invitation,” Violet replied without skipping a beat.

Cullen smiled and brushed her short hair back from her forehead. Violet pressed into his touch, but he was pulling away, readjusting the blanket over them both. Violet settled back down and wriggled over, closer to Cullen. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “Goodnight.”

He wanted to kiss her soft lips. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. He wanted her to sleep in his bed every night. He wanted to soothe her worries and ease her burden. He wanted to be with her at every battle. He didn't want her to go to the Winter Palace, dolled up and fancy for all those rabid Orlesian nobles who would no doubt love to tear her apart. Not that she couldn't handle herself. But still, Cullen hated the idea of letting her be at the mercy of the court, and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Only being able to watch and seethe.

These thoughts kept him up, though he tried not to toss or turn for Violet’s sake. He knew she had draughts to dull the pain from the scars on her back, but that the pain still kept her up at night. She didn’t sleep well, and Cassandra and Varric had both expressed their concern about this to Cullen. He didn’t want to jostle her if she was able to snag a few precious moments of sleep.

“Cullen,” Violet whispered in the dark.

Cullen couldn’t help but smile at her sleepy voice. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Oh, my bad,  _ Commander _ ,” Violet replied sarcastically. Her hand alighted on his chest and she rested her head on top of it. “I just wanted to say that you’re  _ very _ warm and comfortable. Perhaps we should make this a more frequent arrangement?”

“Only if you get some sleep,” he replied, running a hand through her hair.

She chuckled. “I could think of some activities that would tire me out a bit.”

Cullen’s face flushed scarlet, but thank the Maker that Violet could not see it in the darkness. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, under her cheek, and licked his lips nervously. “Um, if that’s...that’s...I mean, if you want…”

“Cullen.” He stopped stammering as Violet’s free hand trailed along his jaw. “I don’t mind. I’m okay with not...having sex. But I also really like sex, especially with a person whom I care for deeply, and would very much enjoy having sex. With you, if you want that. If you’re okay with sex.”

Cullen was a bit speechless. “That’s rather forward.”

“Is that not okay?”

“It’s  _ very _ okay,” he responded breathily, placing a hand on her chin and tilting it upward. He could feel her grin as their lips touched delicately, featherlight. They touched again, barely brushing, and Violet made a quiet, impatient noise and pressed closer to Cullen, licking his lips. He opened his mouth eagerly and she sighed happily, twining her fingers into his curls.

“Eager, hm?” Cullen murmured.

“Less talking, Cullen,” Violet breathed. “Put those lips to better use.”

Cullen grinned and kissed Violet hungrily, swallowing her moans as his hands wandered down her body, ghosting from her shoulder, down her waist and across her hips, resting on the curve of her arse. She pulled back from him, just slightly, a predatory look in her lust-darkened eyes. Cullen felt his pulse leap as she started pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against his throat, licking and nipping as she went.

His hand tightened as Violet slid her fingers up under his tunic, brushing through the soft, golden curls that trailed upward from his waistband. She leaned away so she could slip the shirt up and off, hurriedly doing the same with her own. Then she recaptured Cullen’s lips with her own, pressing her bare breasts against the curls fuzzing Cullen’s chest. He moaned at the soft contact, feeling his trousers becoming uncomfortably tight against his growing arousal.

“Violet,” Cullen moaned as she pressed her hips into his. “I want to see you.”

She paused, her short breaths filling the air between them. Then he felt the bed shift as she turned away, toward the bedside table. He heard her hands shuffle around the area, her quiet curses. And then her victorious  _ aha! _ as she lit a match. The tiny flame did little to illuminate the room as it played over Violet's pale face. Then she lit the lantern on Cullen’s table, the flame growing and throwing light over them both.

Cullen stared in awe as Violet turned back toward him. Her milky skin, crisscrossed with scars, dotted lightly with freckles. He sat up to reach her face, cupping it in his calloused palms, drawing her lips back to his as he kissed her passionately. He peppered little kisses all over her cheeks and jaw, down her neck, stopping just below her ear to nuzzle and bite gently. She groaned loudly, shifting so she was in Cullen's lap, her clothed heat pressed against the hardness in his breeches.

Cullen's hands found their way back to Violet's hips, thumbs trailing over the edges of her underclothes. She lifted her hips in encouragement, whining slightly as he slowly pulled the garment down her thighs.

“You're sure about this, Cullen?” Violet asked breathily, settling back as he tossed her panties somewhere in the semi-darkness.

“Violet, I've wanted to do this for far too long,” he admitted. “I...I love you, Violet. I have since the moment I met you.”

And he meant it. He had loved few people romantically in his life. Fewer since the ordeal at Kinloch. He had devolved into a mage-hating, borderline-abusive, pathetic excuse for a Templar. And he had made the choice to leave that life, to seek redemption, to help piece the world back together when he could. Never in a thousand ages would he have considered finding love on this journey. He never thought he would be worthy of love. Now, he knew sex was a carnal desire, but he didn't want this to be just fucking. He prayed that Violet wanted more than that, too. He could understand how she wouldn't, but Cullen was also able to see the signs of genuine affection for him.

Violet froze, hands on Cullen's chest. Her brow creased with a look of uncertainty. Cullen felt his heart stutter with fear. Had he been wrong? Or maybe his timing was wrong? After all, it was easy to mistake the emotions felt during sex as love. But he was so sure that he wasn't misinterpreting his feelings.

He waited with baited breath for her reaction, each half second seeming to take hours.

“I...do you really mean that, Cullen?” she asked softly, her soft gaze meeting his earnest one.

“With all my heart,” he replied honestly. He brushed his hands up and down her bare arms, gooseflesh pimpling her skin. She shivered slightly and Cullen offered her a shy smile. “This is new for me, too. A...genuine relationship.”

“Not just sex?” she clarified, moving her hands up to cup his chin.

“No,” he assured her softly, tilting toward her face. He kissed her passionately, fervent but careful. He felt her hands drop, moving to his waistband and fiddling with the strings that laced the front closed. His gasp turned into a moan when she slid her hand into his trousers, ghosting over the head of his cock. She purred in the back of her throat, pulling back to meet his eyes, looking up at him through her long lashes.

Cullen pushed her gently down onto her back, sliding his trousers off as he did so. Violet made an approving noise when she saw his full, hard length free from the bounds of clothing. He smirked, blushing at her unabashed staring, the lustful darkness in her enchanting green eyes. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he slowly slid into her, groaning at the sensation. Her hands knotted into his hair, tugging at the messy curls as she moaned wantonly, not caring if anyone heard.

He groaned as Violet bit and licked at his collarbone, leaving love marks all over his neck and chest. Once he was fully sheathed, he paused, breathing heavily, supporting himself on his elbows. Violet met his molten eyes, her lips swollen enticingly.

“Move,” she moaned, grinding her hips up against his with another breathless cry. Without waiting for further prompting, he obliged her, his strong hands gripping her hips firmly as he pulled out slightly before driving back into her. He set a slow pace as he lavished more kisses all over Violet's skin, until he reached her breasts. He flicked his tongue against her pebbled nipple, his hips snapping forward with her moans of ecstasy. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, gently scraping his teeth around the sensitive flesh. At this, Violet gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders, leaving tiny, crescent-moon shaped indentations.

Cullen moved one hand to Violet’s core, rotating his thumb over the bundle of nerves there as he rolled his hips into hers over and over, making Violet writhe and whimper and arch her back, pressing her breasts against Cullen’s hard chest, the wiry curls there sending flutters straight to her core. Her small noises sent pleasure rushing to Cullen’s throbbing cock, and he worried that he might finish before her, leaving her wanting more. He panted against her neck, vowing that even if he did come before her, he would make sure she still had an earth-shattering orgasm.

He started rubbing her clit more vigorously with his calloused thumb, biting softly at that spot under her ear that made her eyes roll back with pleasure. She bucked up against Cullen, one hand fisting in the sweat-soaked sheets beneath them. Her mouth opened silently as words failed her, her chest heaving.

“Oh, Cullen, don’t stop, please,” she cried when she could speak again. She moved in tandem with him, jerking her hips to meet each roll of his, but her movements were becoming more erratic as an orgasm crept up on her, making her walls clench around him.

“Oh, Violet,” he whispered hoarsely. “ _ Fuck _ .”

A few more strokes against her, and she came undone. With a strangled cry that turned into a drawn-out moan of his name, her mouth hanging open, she clenched around Cullen. She panted loudly, gasping for breath, gripping at anything--the sheets, Cullen, her breasts--as her orgasm crashed through her.

Cullen bit his lip as her nectar gushed forth, slicking the hand still poised over her bud, and he waited for her emerald eyes to reopen before he brought that hand to his mouth and licked it clean, maintaining eye contact the whole time. She kneaded her breasts in her hands as she watched him, a devilish smirk on her face. Then Cullen leaned down to kiss her, and she could taste herself on his tongue, causing them to moan in tandem. She pulled back and smiled wistfully. The next words out of her mouth sent Cullen spiralling over the edge.

“Come inside me, love,” she murmured in his ear before kissing his lobe and biting gently. “ _ Please _ .”

His cock twitched heavily inside her, and he snapped his hips against hers, once, twice, thrice, before he couldn’t contain himself and he spilled himself in her with a roar, bliss flooding his veins as he emptied himself entirely. She moaned again, humming in satisfaction as he rode it out slowly, his breaths coming in pants. He pulled out slowly, hissing quietly, and laid down next to her. They lay facing each other, their heavy breaths mingling, both just bathing in the afterglow.

“That was...fantastic,” Violet said, pressing close to Cullen. She rested her head on his shoulder, glancing up at him through her lashes. She pressed a kiss to a dark purple bruise she’d left on his collarbone, grinning. He smiled down at her, wrapping a strong arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head.

“Yes, it was,” he agreed, nuzzling her short hair. A few moments passed in content silence. “But...we still have things to talk about. Such as how much you frequent the tavern.”

“Don’t chastise me right after the best sex of my life,” Violet whined, closing her eyes and frowning.

Cullen chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’d like for you to consider spending  _ more _ nights with me.”

Violet hummed. “Hmm, someone’s a little horny, no?”

His face flushed scarlet, but Violet wasn’t looking at him, her eyes still closed. Cullen arched his shoulders forward so he could blow out the candle before replying. “You know I haven’t had...anyone special in my life for...a long time. Not that I’ve been...celibate that whole time, but...this is nice.”

“This  _ is _ nice,” she agreed, snuggling closer. “But this discussion of my drinking habits can be had tomorrow.”

“Of course, My Lady,” he agreed with a grin against her forehead. He felt her smile against his skin, and before he knew it, her breathing evened out and she was fast asleep. He could still feel her smile even as he drifted off to sleep. For once, no nightmares plagued him.


End file.
